Stolen
by sprinkledwithpearls
Summary: ."He climbed out the window and into the crisp, cool air of the night, whispering one last thing to the angel lying in his arms. 'Let the dream begin'." A continuance of the movie/musical with touches of Kay. EC. Chapter 15 posted!
1. Chapter I

_**Stolen**_

**Chapter One: Au Revior  
**_translation: _Goodbye

* * *

Raoul lightheartedly pecked Christine on the cheek one last time, unhooking his jacket from the coat rack.

"I'll be back before you notice I'm gone," he promised with sincerity in his eyes. The young brunette nodded, smiling gently.

"Raoul, I'll be fine," Christine didn't want to show any signs of weakness. This was the first time he was leaving her for longer than a day since the two had first begun their new lives together, started over. He had been there by her side, and Christine couldn't help but have a dreadful feeling in the pit of her stomach now that she was going to be alone. Well, technically, she would have the maids and cooks company, but it was still a frightening thought to her- being without him.

"I know you will, Christine. You're so strong," he marveled, stroking her rosy cheek.

"Monsieur de Changny, your carriage has arrived," Madeline, a young maid with long, curly locks, called from the front door.

"Goodbye, Miss Daaé," Raoul murmured. Christine smiled and waved, watching as he lifted his suitcase and made his way towards the front door.

"Au revior!" She said softly, before the door was closed in front of her.

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The wind howled, ringing in the man's ears and lifting his cape in a manner that he found rather annoying.

"Curse this wind..." The dark figure muttered to himself.

The Vicomte had yet to leave; instead he was still inside the towering house, probably giving _her_ goodbye kisses. The very thought of it disgusted Erik.

He stealthily moved underneath the balcony, still unseen. He planned to go through the back entrance of the mansion, which was scarcely used. The place had so many doors one could easily get lost, traveling in circles of an endless maze. Raoul had inherited the countryside house from his parents, who were now on a beach somewhere in Panama, and he had lived there alone for quite a long time, that is, until Christine came along.

"Finally, the boy's gone," Erik mumbled. He watched as the extravagant (and most likely expensive) carriage rode off into the night. This was what he had been waiting for, for what seemed like an eternity. The man simply did not ever leave her alone! Of course, Erik knew why. _He_ was the reason. The thought of it made him smile wickedly in the darkness. _Once a fool, always a fool, _Erik thought to himself.

Once he felt as though it was safe to go inside, he silently twisted the door open and immediately hid in a spare room so that he would be unseen. He listened carefully for any sounds that were near, and heard nothing but a pitter patter upstairs, where Christine was most likely eating supper. Erik had thought it was quite idiotic to put a kitchen upstairs, especially with such an elongated staircase. But either way, it now confirmed that the coast was clear.

He looked like a shadow, sweeping across the halls, somehow darker than the already night-fallen house. Only his mask contrasted the black surrounding him. Erik slithered through the house without making a sound, the door he was searching for quickly coming into view.

It was Christine's room.

And he refused to think that she shared it with that dim-witted _boy._

Erik had needed to time this perfectly. He certainly could not have entered the room while she was in it, and that had to be during a meal, and Raoul could not be in the house. That was unquestionable. The man would be back in three days. That was how long Erik had- three days.

Christine's scent was overwhelming when Erik swiftly closed the door behind him. This was the closest he had been to her in three months. Three months ago was the closest he ever had been to her. Three months ago, when _she _had given him something he had never received from anyone… that one kiss…

_No,_ Erik told himself. _I must not think of the past._

The past months away from her had been pure torture for Erik. For the first couple of weeks, he had felt nothing- nothing at all. He was utterly empty, drained of everything. Tears were often shed when he started to feel again. Some days he would wake up feeling dangerously angry, screaming with rage to nobody in particular, shattering the few mirrors that were left, and ripping papers full of sweet, beautiful music. But some days, Erik only felt sadness. He would constantly wonder why this had happened to him, why he was so hideous, why she didn't love him.

It wasn't until recently that Erik had a new mindset. He wasn't going to dwell in what had happened, no. Instead, he would do something. And when Erik wanted something, Erik got it.

With all the more determination, Erik took out a crinkled piece of paper and smoothed it on an edge of an oak dresser. His eyes scanned the writing one last time. Just as he was about to place the note under her pillow, Erik froze in the midst of it.

_Do it, you coward. This is your final chance._

"From 'your angel'," he whispered with a hint of sarcasm, slipping the note into its hiding place.

Suddenly, Erik heard footsteps approaching. He cursed under his breath and looked around frantically, trying to think of a plan, and quickly. His eyes found the opened window at the opposite end of the room. Instinctively, he soared to the window and climbed out without any trouble at all, as agile as ever. Just as he was about to shoot off into the night, he heard something…

She was humming. Crouching low at the ground, he could not help but listen.

It was the same beautiful voice he had trained her to have. She was his masterpiece. If it weren't for him, her voice would not be so angelic, so pure. She belonged to him.

And that was all the more reason of why he was doing this.

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Christine changed into her nightgown as quickly as she could manage. It felt so empty in her room, so quiet… too quiet. She slipped on her robe and didn't even bother putting on any house shoes. She hummed to herself to fill in the gaps of silence that penetrated through her.

Just as she was about to leave the room, she sensed that something was different. Not only did she feel alone, but her pillow seemed slightly out of place.

Oh, who was she kidding? _I must be seeing things_, Christine told herself, shaking her head from left to right.

Christine scurried down the long hallways of the house, bringing herself to the grand staircase. Her small steps took her up the wooden stairs, and lead her to a magnificent fireplace with two chairs in front of it. She folded her legs and sat in the warm armchair, draping a blanket over herself. The fire was already lit, as it was every night, even though it was nearing May.

Her chocolate eyes observed as the orange flames licked the crackling wood, making a sound she had always been fond of as a child, though she didn't know why. The reds and yellows and oranges combined, swaying, almost dancing to some unknown melody. A reflection of the blaze was nearly visible in its watchers eyes, as if she were hypnotized by it.

Fire meant many different things to Christine ever since the night that seemed like it was such a while ago. The disaster was fire, and the fire was the end. It was the end of everything- her days at the opera house, her wakeful nights as she sang to an unknown teacher, her carefree giggles and laughs among the other dancers as they gossiped during the night. That was a time when she was happy. That was a time when her angel of music was just a figment of her imagination, there, but only in her dreams.

The fire had put an end to it all. She was forced to leave the life she had known before. Was that what she wanted? She certainly did miss the Opera Populaire. She missed Meg Giry, Madame Giry, and even some of the kind-hearted dancers that had twirled alongside her. So was running away, escaping it all what she had wanted?

But the fire wasn't only an ending. Christine had felt a type of fire different than anything she had ever felt before during a particular song on that god-forsaken night. As she sang in _Don Juan, _a flame was alight inside of her, and passion was visible in her eyes. Not even Raoul could deny it, he had never seen his love sing with such emotion, look at someone with such depth, so many feelings brewing inside of her- sadness, confusion, want, need, love, pity… And that night, not even Christine knew which of these feelings she should have followed.

In the end, her weakness had taken hold of her, and her one feeling had made the final decision.

_Fear._

"Miss Daaé?," a bell-like voice chirped suddenly.

Christine gasped, taken aback at the sudden sound of a voice. She had been so deep into thought that she was hardly even in the present, until now, and hadn't realized that Madeline had actually said her name twice already.

"Oh, I didn't mean to frighten you," the young maid said softly. "I'm sorry; I'll leave you to your… whatever it is you were doing…"

"No, no, it's quite fine," Christine muttered quickly. "I don't know why I was so lost, like that…" She shook her head, as if she were trying to shake the thoughts from her mind. "Here, take a seat," she gestured to the empty armchair next to her, desperate to think of something-anything else.

"That's okay, I would rather stand anyway," Madeline replied. "I hope you don't mind me asking, but what is it that you were thinking about?" Madeline had always had a curiosity with the young brunette, ever since she had began living at the de Chagny estate months ago. She had always believed that there was more to Christine that was underneath her, something that she must have kept bottled up deep inside of her.

Christine sighed and uncrossed her legs, glancing down at her palms. "Nothing really, just reminiscing, I suppose," she murmured. Madeline bobbed her head up and down as if she understood completely. But she didn't- she did not understand at all.

"I see… Well, I should leave you to your memories, Miss Daaé," Madeline said, retreating towards the maid's quarters. Christine only nodded, though her memories were the last thing she wanted to think about.

Once again, she sat in silence, her eyes seeming distant and unaware of what was occurring around her. Christine did not notice the drowsiness that had settled in her, and she did not realize that her eyelids were gradually falling lower. Eventually, she had drifted to sleep…

0-0-0-0-0

"_Let the dream begin, let your darker side give in, to the power of the music that I write…" _

_The haunting, yet beautiful voice had mesmerized her. He was in complete control over her, using only the sound that came from deep inside of him. _

"_Christine, don't listen to him! That thing, he's a monster! Let _me_ be your light- escape this darkness, Christine!" Raoul pleaded, watching the two from behind the metal gate, trapped. Flames encircled him, yet somehow not burning or swallowing him. _

"_I only want freedom!" Christine cried out, confusion caking her voice. The dark figure turned to her, the pain that glazed over his eyes shattering her heart. _

"_Christine, please. Save me," he whispered, though it sounded like singing, still. "I love you, Christine. I love you." _

_She began to walk forward, not able to tear her gaze from his wounded eyes. "Pitiful creature of darkness," she sang as she stroked his smooth cheek. "What kind of life have you known?" Her hand moved to his right cheek, grazing over the hard, white mask. _

_And then, she felt a hand on her shoulder. _

_Raoul was somehow now standing behind her, despite being previously trapped. He raised his hand from her shoulder, and suddenly, many things happened at once._

_His mask was gone, now in Raoul's hand. Christine gasped, and the phantom let out a cry of agony, his hand immediately flying to cover his unmasked face. _

"_Raoul, what have you done?" Christine breathed in horror. Before he could answer; Raoul was unexpectedly shoved into the water by a dark, gloved hand. Steel bars fell over Raoul forming a cage, so that he was now, once again, trapped. The phantom shook the cage, yelling with rage._

"_Do you see what he has done? And now, he must be the one behind bars! Laugh at him, Christine, laugh at him! Look at the fool, helpless! Ha!" He laughed maniacally, and Christine remained silent, eyes full of terror. Raoul tried to push against the cage, but it didn't budge. He was trapped._

_And the menacing laughter did not stop._

_The flames had only grown stronger on top of the water, soaring across it. And before Christine could scream, she was devoured by them._

0-0-0-0-0

Christine jolted upright, trembling with fear. Her breathing was labored as she tried to control herself and return to the present.

She often had nightmares of her once called angel of music. As hard as she tried to forget, he was always there, haunting her dreams with his poignant voice and miserable eyes that reached the depths of her soul.

"That's what you get for falling asleep in front of a fire," she scolded herself. Rising from the chair, she folded the satin blanket once, and then frowned at the job she had done. It took Christine three tries to do a decent folding job, until she finally ended up throwing the blanket onto the floor out of frustration.

In a trance-like state, she floated to her room, gently closing the door behind her. She was still holding her breath, as she had been for half a minute now, and she slowly exhaled, a little bit of color returning to her face. Christine removed her robe and climbed into bed, without washing her face or removing the pins from her hair.

"Sleep, I must sleep," she muttered to herself.

As she rested her head on her pillow, though, she discovered that soft, white sheets weren't the only thing underneath it.

There was also a note.

_Miss Daaé,_

_I hope you aren't too comfortable with your current life, because I have a feeling that this new found 'happiness' will not last as long as you might like it to.  
I miss you, Christine.  
And I_

_Have you already forgotten about me? It hasn't been that long, my Christine._

_But do not be afraid.  
No harm will come to you, that is, if you keep this little note a secret.  
I would highly suggest not telling a soul about this.  
I will __see you in a short amount of time._

It did not give any information on the sender.

Christine's hands were shaking even more than before.

Who could have written this? Raoul wouldn't ever do something like this… Perhaps it was one of the maids playing a trick on her? Madeline was sometimes a curiosity… Maybe it was Kennedy, she seemed like the sneaky type…

Another face entered her mind, though she was trying to forbid herself to think of _him._ But Christine could not help the familiar fear she had felt while she was reading the letter…

Christine needed Raoul now more than ever.

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A/N: **So... How was the first chapter?  
Trust me, it will get better. The next chapter will be up hopefully by next weekend.  
Please review, I promise I'll reply to it(:**

Thanks!

* * *


	2. Chapter II

_**Stolen**_

**Chapter 2: Chroniques d'un Fantôme  
**_translation:_ Tales of a Phantom

A/N: **I cannot thank all of you enough for the reviews from the last chapter. You guys absolutely blew me away. Thank you so much. (:  
Here is chapter two, and I hope you all enjoy it!**

* * *

Joelle, Madeline, Sarah and Kennedy crowded around Madeline's bed, giggling and whispering in hushed tones. The solitaire window on the eastern wall provided enough light for the room. Outside was a sinister full moon, which added to the atmosphere of the dark room even more. Joelle, a dark-headed maid around the age of 17 made motions with her hands while she spoke, as the others listened intently. Sarah sat beside her, the youngest of them all at 16, her blonde curls bouncing as she giggled. She had rosy cheeks and smooth brown eyes, and was very pretty, to say the least. Next to Sarah sat Kennedy, whose facial expression remained composed. Kennedy had bright blue eyes, eyes that caught anyone's attention from miles away. Her father had used to call her 'ocean eyes' when she was little…

A candle flickered dimly on the opposite end of the room, where Ann, Claudette, and Martha, the older maids shook their heads with smiles.

"What I would give to be young again," Ann sighed. Martha and Claudette couldn't agree more.

Suddenly, Madeline screamed, which was followed with a chorus of laughter.

"And then," Joelle whispered in an ominous voice, "He gets you alone, somewhere deep in the darkness where no one will be able to hear your screams."

"What does he do next?" Sarah prompted with her eyes as wide as physically possible.

"Well…" Joelle shifted, trying to be subtle. Only Kennedy noticed her pulling something from under a pillow, but didn't say anything, for she caught onto Joelle's plan very quickly. "First, he tells you that you are going to die. And last…" Sarah leaned even closer, not having a clue as to what her dark haired friend was planning.

"He gets you!" A rope swung over Sarah's head, which was followed by a shrill shriek. "With his magical lasso!"

"My goodness, Sarah, your screaming scared me more than the lasso!" Madeline said breathlessly, which sent the girls into a fit of giggles.

"Ladies, calm down, you'll wake Miss Daaé," Ann tried to sound disciplinary, but was still smiling softly. "What is it that's causing all of this screaming anyways?"

"We're just telling stories," Madeline stated innocently. Ann raised an eyebrow, and the young girls had known her long enough to know that the eyebrow meant trouble.

"Ok… have you ever heard of… The Phantom of the Opera?" Joelle whispered, as if just saying the name frightened her.

Ann rolled her eyes, sitting down on the stiff bed beside Kennedy. "Oh, please," she scoffed. "You mean that supposed 'ghost' of the opera house? You girls can't believe that nonsense." Ann shook her head. "Rumors can get so out of hand these days…" She muttered to herself.

"But he's real! It was all over the newspapers, the death of a stagehand, the shattered chandelier, the horrible fire that destroyed the entire opera house!" Sarah insisted.

"For heaven's sakes, it did not destroy the entire opera house. They've already built back the damage that was done and I'm sure it'll be back up and running any day now. Besides, if this 'phantom' really is real, he either died in the fire along with a few others, or fled somewhere far, far away," Ann gazed at the wall, imagining a dark shadow soaring across the European countryside, escaping this town.

The girls looked at each other with uneasy expressions, still convinced that there was, indeed, a "Phantom of the Opera" somewhere out there. Ann sighed and exited the room, joining Claudette and Martha who were now playing Jim Rummy.

"Perhaps Ann is right," Kennedy spoke for the first time that night. Surprised, the girls looked at her with quizzical expressions. "I mean, we've never _actually_ seen him before. And who even knows what he looks like- he could be tall, short, muscular, fat… or he could be just a mere rumor."

Sarah and Madeline exchanged a glance. "You've never heard about… about his mask?" Madeline asked quietly. Slowly, Kennedy shook her head. "You tell her, Joelle. You're the best at it." Joelle nodded seriously, and began to tell her tale, which had been thoroughly altered and distorted from the truth, much like the face of the man she was about to tell about.

"Sometime in the night somewhere along the streets of Paris, a baby was born with a hideous, horrible face. All were afraid of him, because he was the child of the devil himself. This devil's spawn was nothing but pure evil. As a child, he would find woodland creatures and even innocent pets, and kill them in his very own backyard. Eventually, his parents could not take it anymore. Some say they sent him away. Some say he killed his own mother and father." Joelle said it with such indifference that it caused Sarah to shiver, although she had already heard the story many times. "Nobody knows exactly how he ended up at the opera house, but he lived there in the dark catacombs of the Opera Populaire. To hide his disgusting face, he wore a half-faced white mask, though he still never showed himself to the world. The only ones that did ever see him were soon killed afterwards. And," she paused, fiddling with her nightgown. "Well, you know the rest. He murdered without a thought, using his magical lasso." She smiled, grazing her hands over the rope she had used to 'capture' Sarah.

"That's… that's awful," Kennedy shook her head. "He didn't even have a reason to kill!" Joelle shrugged, and Madeline and Sarah only frowned.

There was an unusual pause of silence for a few seconds. Just as Sarah was about to speak, the sound of a doorknob twisting startled all of the ladies in the room.

"Hello everyone," Christine said with a smile as if her entering the maid's quarters were completely normal. Joelle, Sarah, and Kennedy just stared.

"Hi, Miss Daaé," Madeline shuffled to her feet in an obedient manner. "Is there anything I can get you?"

Christine shook her head quickly, approaching the four girls. "Oh, no, I was just… well… I suppose I couldn't sleep, and needed some company."

"Of course," Madeline replied. "You can sit down, if you want." She scooted over on the already crowded bed, and Christine took a seat immediately.

"So what were you ladies talking about?" She wondered, trying to avoid any awkwardness. _I really should visit with them more,_ Christine told herself regrettably. _I'm sure they're somewhere near afraid of me. _She frowned at that thought.

The girls exchanged unsure glances, debating whether or not to tell her about the stories they had been telling. Madeline shrugged, not wanting to be the one to speak. Neither Joelle nor Kennedy saw any harm to it, and this time, Sarah was as eager as ever to tell the tale of the opera ghost.

"Do you know where the Opera Populaire is?" She inquired first. Christine stiffened once she had spoken of the opera house, but to her relief, none of the girls had noticed.

"Yes, actually, I know quite a lot about that particular opera house," she murmured.

"Oh, well then, you must know all about the ghost that haunted the place," Sarah stated. Christine didn't reply. "You know, 'The Phantom of the Opera'?" Christine was too dazed at hearing his 'name' to speak, so she indistinctly nodded. "We were just talking about how we think he's still alive and out there somewhere." Sarah grinned and stared out the window, like she was expecting him to swoop in at that very moment.

Christine turned as white as the sheet she was positioned on. The very thought of him being anywhere near her caused her to stagger slightly, and she had to catch herself with her arm behind her.

"Are you all right, Miss Daaé?" Joelle asked uneasily.

It took her a minute to regain her composure, but she did shake her head eventually, answering the young maid's question. "Yes, yes, I'm fine… You know, it's rather late, I should probably be getting to sleep…"

And with that, Christine stood and departed from the room, softly shutting the wooden door behind her with shaky fingers.

"Well that was… somewhat odd," Madeline said once she was sure that Miss Daaé was well on her way down the stairs. Joelle and Sarah muttered agreements, and Kennedy was only thinking to herself, wondering about what could have possibly caused that sort of reaction.

It wasn't long before everyone was yawning, and bags were beginning to form under the four girl's eyes. As she did every night, Martha closed the door to the conjoining room and wished the girls sweet dreams. As if on cue, a dark cloud blocked the now hidden moon. Sarah, Kennedy and Joelle climbed into their own small beds, and began to explore in their own dreamlands.

And somewhere outside, Madeline could have sworn she heard the galloping of a horse into the night, with perhaps, a stranger on its back.

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"Father, I don't know what I'm supposed to do," Christine whispered helplessly. Tears clouded her vision, and she frustratingly rubbed her eyes. She was kneeling on the wooden floor next to her bed, speaking to her father who must have been listening from somewhere very far away.

"You said you would send me an angel, father. But I'm afraid of him. I don't even know if he really is my angel!" She threw her arms in the air hopelessly. "I know I cannot try and forget him. I knew that running away was not the answer. But I did it anyways… Father, I love Raoul, I truly do. I thought starting over with him would make everything alright… But everything is far from alright. I cannot just make him disappear from my life…"

The sound of sudden thunder caused Christine to jump, and her hand flew to her heart, which was beating as quickly as the flutter of a hummingbird's wings.

"What is it, Father? Are you trying to send me a sign or something?!" Christine was in hysterics by now, tears running freely down her cheeks.

She took a minute to calm herself.

"I don't think I want to forget him," she whispered so softly that she almost couldn't hear herself. "I know he doesn't deserve to be alone. But…" she stammered, "why me?" Christine knew it was too late to be asking that. It was too late to be going to her father for guidance.

"I just don't understand… I don't know whether to hate him, or pity him… or… or love him."

Silently, she stood, climbing into bed. Dark rings were carved below her eyes, and she was beyond exhausted. It was already far past midnight, and stress and fear were gnawing at Christine emotionally and physically.

Her body was turned facing the closed window, where rain was now falling endlessly, lightning striking somewhere in the distance every few minutes or so. Just as Christine was about to close her eyes, she imagined a dark figure emerging from the storm. Without a second thought, she turned her body to the opposite side and tried to shut her eyes, to shut herself out from all that had occurred that day.

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Erik cursed the rain yet again, dismounting Cicero who was, like him, soaking wet. The horse stood obediently still as Erik tied him into his stable, a knot which was unmistakably the Opera Ghost's indeed.

He trudged through the mud in his heavy boots, sodden with a mixture of water and, now, dirt. He shook off his boots before entering the dark place, throwing them to the side, deciding to deal with them in the morning. Stepping into the dark entrance, Erik removed his cape, wringing it out and tossing it onto the coat rack. He remembered the box he had placed next to the door, and bent down to pick it up. Erik began walking into a dimly-lit room and set the heavy box, which he made seem quite light, onto a mahogany table.

He began removing its contents, setting each object on the table. Taking them out one by one, he did not stop until every single candle was out of the box.

Erik had always been fond of candles. He did not know why. Though he was always fascinated with mirrors as a child, he was also fascinated with fire.

The candles were arranged by Erik in under a minute throughout the room, and they somehow looked perfectly in their place, despite Erik's effortlessness. He struck a match and lit two of the candles, providing just enough light to be able to see and walk around for a regular human.

Erik had grown used to the dark, after all of these years. His vision had adjusted to it, and he actually despised the light. It revealed far too much. But the darkness kept him hidden, like a shadow, as he had always been.

Erik disappeared from the room into another, larger one and changed into dry clothes, muttering something that had to do with rain being utterly useless, its only point to soak those like him to the bone. This room was already filled with candles, as were all of the other rooms in the house.

A grand piano sat in the corner of the room, and Erik drifted towards it. He did not place a sheet of music in front of him. Instead, he decided to pour his dark soul onto the black and white keys as it was. The beautiful sound filled the air, suddenly causing everything to seem a bit darker. The melody was soft and sad, at first. Erik was thinking of his past family, of which he hardly remembered. The very room he was in brought back so many haunting memories.

The music somehow smoothly transitioned into a lighter tone, as did his thoughts. It was almost happy, so different than his usual heartbreaking compositions, yet it still held a sad undertone. A new face appeared in Erik's mind, replacing the fuzzy image of his mother. Now Erik thought only of Christine- of _his _angel of music.

How he longed to see her, to hold her, and never let go.

_Just a little bit longer_, he told himself. _You will see her in time._

* * *

Christine woke to the aroma of pancakes and fresh eggs, her stomach growling at the magnificent scent.

Glancing out her window, she squinted from the blinding sun. Judging by the position of it in the sky, it was somewhere near nine. This was unusual for Christine; she was normally up and about by a quarter past seven. Although she had risen late, she was still a bit tired. Her dreams and the storm had kept her tossing and turning until three or so, and then she had been out cold for the remainder of the night.

A flash of red caused Christine to pause from sitting up, and she turned to see what had caught her attention.

On the corner of her bedside table sat a beautiful, delicate, thorn less rose, with a black satin ribbon tied flawlessly around the stem.

A note in the same handwriting she had seen a day earlier was under the rose, this time sealed with an inky red skull, staring at Christine.

She did not want to read it. She wanted to do anything but read the note. But, she picked it up, unfolded it, and read it anyways.

_My dearest Christine,_

_I am quite pleased that you have decided to obey me and keep my little note a secret. I assume you will continue doing so, for it doesn't take much thought to know the consequences of disobeying your angel._

_Preparations have been made for you, Christine. Everything is falling into place, except for one last detail…_

_I have a favor to ask of you, Christine. I want you to tell your little maid Madeline to please stop all of her suspicions about 'The Phantom of the Opera.' I want you to tell her, to ensure her, that he is gone- that he died in the fire of the opera house so many nights ago. That way, we won't have her getting in our way._

_Now, run along, enjoy the time you have left in your _splendid _mansion. _

_O.G._

O.G,Christine repeated in her mind. _Opera Ghost._

"Oh, Miss Daaé, you're awake," Madeline said in a surprised tone. Christine hadn't moved an inch.

"That's a beautiful rose," she observed, restraining herself from asking where she got it from, or _who_. Christine still didn't reply, and Madeline did not want to bother her any longer.

"Well, I just came to inform you that breakfast is ready." All Christine did- could do- was stare at the rose, and Madeline sighed, retreating back up the stairs and to the kitchen.

Now Christine's worst fears had become reality.

He was coming for her- and there was nothing she could do about it.

* * *

A/N: **Well... how was it? You tell me, favorite parts, worst parts... Everything.  
I've decided to send a short sneak peek of the next chapter to any reviewers, as a thank you, in a review reply. Unfortunately, this is only possible if you have an account, so sorry anonymous reviewers. **

**Anyways, thanks for reading!**

**sprinkledwithpearls is out!**

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	3. Chapter III

_**Stolen**_

**Chapter 3: **

Enlèvement

_translation: _Abduction

A/N:**I have to give away that there will be some song in this chapter, and it took me many tries to get the lyrics legitimate. With some help from my sister, I have written the lyrics in the chapter. I hope they aren't too bad... (:  
Enjoy the chapter!**

Disclaimer: I'm a bad girl, I've been forgetting these. I do not own Phantom of the Opera. I only own my plot, a few characters here and there, and in this specific chapter, some song lyrics.

**(Something to remember- the first four lines of the lyrics are to the tune of "Father once spoke of an angel/ I used to dream he'd appear/ Now as I sing I can sense him/ And I know he's here." I'm sure you guys can figure out the rest.)**

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* * *

**

Erik weaved his way in and out of the trees, following a rarely used path, leaves crunching underneath him. He did not slow, for he had taken this route before. He recognized the towering trees, which provided darkness throughout the shadowy forest. Erik was positive that no one would dare to take this shortcut, for not a soul knew of it besides a once youthful girl who had showed him the route so long ago, when he was only a young boy…

Men, he knew, were afraid of the darkness. They were afraid of the unknown, the mysteries of the danger that could be lurking in the shadows. But Erik longed for the darkness. He was not swallowed by it, like some, but instead was one with the darkness, a mere silhouette in the night. And he was certainly not afraid of it. He himself was a frightening man, after all.

He could now see a speckle of light emerging in the distance, and knew that his journey was soon coming to an end. Sunlight was now beginning to shine across his face, and he immediately pulled his hood over him. It was a sort of protection, almost as if the light would burn him to pieces in seconds.

Usually Erik preferred to make these sorts of visits in the nighttime, but that was not possible on this particular day. Tonight Erik would be doing something that he had been waiting for. Months, he had prepared for this night, and Erik was not going to allow this opportunity to slip through his fingers.

He spotted the small store he had visited before, which just so happened to neighbor an instrument shop. But Erik had been to that music store a while ago, merely out of curiosity, and had never returned. Nearly all of the instruments for sale were horribly out of tune, and the salesmen himself didn't know the first thing about precious music itself, let alone how to read it.

Luckily, there weren't many people roaming the streets at this early hour, and Erik slipped into the store without being noticed at all. He kept his hood up to hide his face, guarded as he approached an older man behind a cash register.

"Mornin', Monsieur," he mumbled sleepily, casting a suspicious glance to the only partly visible white mask that lie on Erik's face. Erik grew agitated with his stares, and restrained from the itch to growl at the old fool. "Is there anythin' I can help you with?"

"I do not have much time, Monsieur," Erik spoke diligently and quickly. The man raised an eyebrow, but Erik ignored him and continued. "Now, let us get to business. I need something that will knock a person out quickly, and perhaps last through the night, if possible."

Now the salesman was serious, nodding. "I think I have just what you're lookin' for. Now, let me warn you, these sorts of potions do not come cheap…"

Erik rolled his eyes, stifling a laugh. "I presume this will be enough." He removed a handful of coins from his breast pocket, dropping them before the man. His eyes widened, and he snatched the coins greedily, as if fearing they would vanish into thin air.

"Yes, yes, that'll do…" he murmured. "Now, if you would follow me." Erik nodded and trailed behind the man who led them back into what seemed to be a storage area of some sort. The man leafed through different bottles, scanning the neat labels on the backs of them. Erik tried to remain patient, but thoughts flooded through his mind, causing him to tap his foot lightly and suppress a sigh.

"Aha, I'm sure this'll do the trick." Erik was handed a small bottle with a brown-colored liquid filled to the brim inside. He examined it promptly, and then dipped his head in a small bow of gratitude to the man.

"Merci, Monsieur," Erik muttered. Then, he turned on his heel, and floated out of the shop like a ghost into the night, leaving the old salesman looking after him with suspicious and confused eyes.

Erik returned back into the forest, tucking the treasured potion into his pocket, as he set off to begin his plan of action.

Grinning devilishly to himself, he almost cackled a laugh out loud. Why, he had done it again! The Phantom of The Opera had finally returned! He would no longer be a miserable soul, drowning in sorrow as he had done for the past couple of months. No, the Opera Ghost was back, and he was determined to claim what had been his all along…

Erik's sudden change of mood caused him to move even faster. But, he paused dead in his tracks the second he heard footsteps coming from somewhere in front of him.

Instinctively, he ducked behind a thick-trunked tree and held his breath, hoping he could stay hidden from his unexpected guest. By the sound of the footsteps, it was a woman. But who could it possibly be? Erik was the only person who knew of this shortcut in the first place! Well, the only person except…

He experimentally peeked from the rough bark, hoping, praying that he would remain unseen.

But the woman he saw completely caught him off guard, and he stepped from behind his hiding place and onto the scarcely used path.

"Antoinette?" His voice was taken aback as he came into her view. Foolishly, though, it had slipped past Erik's mind that Madame Giry was still coming at him with full speed, and the two collided a second after he had said her name. Antoinette stumbled back, startled, as her coin purse flew from her hands.

"Good God!" She huffed; not exactly sure of what had just happened. As soon as she saw the white mask, though, she was fully aware of the man standing before her.

"Erik?" She asked incredulously, as he handed her the now leaf-covered coin purse.

"It seems so." He offered a small smile at his long-time friend, and his only one at that. Erik could never repay Madame Giry for freeing him from those nightmarish days he had spent with the gypsies. He had always been thankful for her understanding nature, and even providing him with an open ear when he'd needed it.

"Well, what a surprise it is meeting you here. How long ago was it that I showed you this path? My, my, my…" She murmured, lost in her thoughts and memories. "And yet you still use it today." A knowing smile appeared on her aged face.

Suddenly, she seemed to have an epiphany of some sort, the fact that this was the first time of her seeing or even hearing from Erik for the first time in months just now occurring to her.

"My goodness, what on Earth have you been doing for the past two months?!" She demanded. "You simply disappear from Paris, and I must admit, I was quite worried! Until now, I was almost convinced you'd died that night in the fire!" She threw her arms up in despair, before noticing the cold, empty eyes of Erik, who seemed to have vanished from his own body entirely. Madame Giry waited patiently before Erik could gain his composure.

"The past two months have been… extremely difficult for me, to say the least," he said softly, his voice almost a whisper. "But I have forbidden myself to live in the past."

Normally, it would be considered a good thing for somebody to move on. But Madame Giry knew Erik all too well, perhaps more than anyone else. She knew that he didn't move on, and that he never would forget. She knew his mindset, his tricks, and was almost too perceivable, too knowing.

"Erik, don't tell you're planning on doing something rash," she said in an almost disciplinary tone, though she already knew that he was_. Old habits die hard_, she thought…

And The Phantom of The Opera had never left in the first place.

"Now, Antoinette, have you ever known the Opera Ghost to be rash?" He mimicked sarcastically. "I am simply taking matters into my own hands, for there is no one to do these things or make these choices now." Though he was speaking in riddles, Madame Giry had more than just a mere inkling to his plans.

"Erik… Now, I'm not going to tell you not to… not to do this…" She struggled to find the correct words.

Sighing deeply, she stared at him into the depths of his eyes, with the same look Erik had been receiving from the woman for years and years. "Look, I just do not want you to end up hurting her even more, Erik. The young lady has been through quite enough, as you have also. She is afraid to merely set foot in the opera house anymore!"

Erik interrupted her, ignoring the daggers that were shot at him. "Madame Giry, I am fully aware of the pain this has caused… her." He couldn't bring himself to say her name. "And I am only trying to show her what she has been before her eyes this entire time. My purpose is not to harm, as I'm sure you know."

Antoinette nodded, knowing that she wasn't going to alter Erik's decision, whatever that might be, one bit. All she could do was hope that maybe he could making the right choice after all.

"I see, and I know you will not harm her. As mad as it may seem, I trust you, Erik." Madame Giry had seen the look in his eyes when he saw Christine, the way his soul took flight. She knew that he could never hurt her, even if he tried. Love was magic, no matter who it cast its spell upon.

"Thank you, Antoinette," Erik said with true gratitude.

"Anytime," she said softly. "Now, I suppose you have things to do, tasks to accomplish."

"Yes, Madame. And it was a pleasant surprise to meet you here."

"I couldn't agree more. Goodbye, Erik. I can only hope that things turn out to your advantage."

Erik nodded seriously, only wishing the same.

And with that, he vanished into the darkness once again, all thoughts directed on a single name that hadn't left his mind since the 58 days it had been since seeing her.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Christine Daaé was an absolute wreck.

She had already spilled her tea all over the white tablecloth, after she jumped at the sound of Ann entering the kitchen. She flinched at every little sound, even those as quiet as a pin dropping. Madeline and Sarah were worried she would crumble to pieces any second now.

Christine knew that she didn't have much time left before _he_ would be here. A last shred of false hope believed that perhaps, by some miracle, Raoul would return before _he _arrived.

No matter where she was in the house, she made sure that she was not in a room alone. When Joelle began dusting the extravagant bookshelves in the study, Christine subtly drifted behind, picking up a book and situating herself on a comfortable chaise longue. She had no idea what she was reading- it could've been a horror novel or a fairytale and she wouldn't have known the difference. And then, when Joelle moved onto the guest bedroom, Christine floated to the kitchen for a cup of tea where Madeline was washing the dishes.

"Madeline," she began uneasily, suddenly remembering instructions from the letter she had recieved.

"Yes, Miss Daaé?" Madeline answered politely, continueing to scrub the expensive China.

"I... There's just something that's been bothering me." Christine struggled for words. Madeline waited with confusion, wondering what Christine could have to tell her. "You know... Well, last night when you and everyone were telling stories about... about the _Opera Ghost_," Christine paused, inhaling. "I just... I just thought it best if I told you that... that he wasn't real." The lie sounded horrible in Christine's ears. She herself didn't believe a word of it. "He never was real, he was just... just a scary story that people told."

Madeline's eyes were puzzled, the dishes set aside.

"Oh. Alright... Thank you for telling me, then, I guess," Madeline mumbled, picking up the half-cleaned dish she had forgotten. Christine knew that she couldn't try and convince her any further, so she absently stirred the warm tea with her pinky.

She told herself over and over again that he would not get away with abducting her. She told herself that no matter what, she would wake up in the morning and Raoul would be by her side. She told herself these things… but in the back of her mind knew that she was only lying.

By evening, Christine was double-checking the locks on every door and shutting every window as tightly as her skinny arms would allow her to. Sometime during her frazzled day, she had somewhat formulated a plan. It was simple, really. Instead of going to bed, she would stay awake. She planned to prevent herself from lying down by sitting in an armchair, and hoped to be alert the entire time. In order to keep her up, Christine would drink as much coffee as she possibly could. Even if her angel did return, she could scream quite loudly, which would no doubt awake the other occupants of the house.

Yes, her plan was all set out. But to even try and escape _The_ _Phantom of the Opera_ himself was like using a dull knife- there was no point, and it certainly would not work.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Erik slipped the bitter substance into Christine's coffee with ease. She had left her beverage unattended many times now, giving him the perfect opportunity over and over again. It was almost too easy.

All that was left to do was wait. If the salesman was true to his word, then Christine would be out within the next half hour, or perhaps even sooner. Nothing had gone wrong yet; in fact, everything was unfolding even better than Erik could've imagined himself.

Now, he positioned himself outside of the window, still hidden within the shadows. The reflection from a silver wall decoration in the living room gave Erik a flawless view of Christine, yet it was still impossible for her to see him. He watched with anticipation as she curled up on the chair, brushing the blanket to the floor, although he could tell that she was shivering. She had always been quite stubborn, always having to prove something to herself as she was now.

Already, he could see a sudden fatigue appear, first in her eyes. And then, gradually, her body became more relaxed- too relaxed. _And the countdown begins..._

* * *

"Angel…"

Erik jolted from his trance-like state, squinting to see where the sudden sound had come from.

She was sleep talking.

"It's about time," Erik muttered to himself. He was rather angry with the old salesman, who had exaggerated the effects of the drug completely. It had been over an hour, and she had finally fallen asleep. Erik was thankful that the window that separated him from Christine wasn't soundproof, for he was on the verge of sleep himself.

Agilely, he slipped the window open and climbed inside the living room, sliding it shut quickly behind him. He had known from many years ago that Christine was indeed a heavy sleeper, and the only sound that ever received a response from her was the sweet, beautiful sound of Erik's voice.

"Christine." The whisper escaped him, and Erik drifted towards her without even realizing it. He fought off the desperate urge to stroke her soft cheek, and push her dark hair out of her eyes. She trembled suddenly, and he carefully draped the discarded blanket over her pale form.

"Sleep now," he murmured.

"Angel?"

This time, it was a question. Her voice was heavy with sleep, and Erik smiled softly, lingering just within her reach.

"_Too long I've watched from a distance…_

_Reaching for you for some time…_

_Christine, have you forgotten?_

_Your chains are still mine!" _

Erik grinned as Christine stirred, shivering at the sound of his voice. Drowsily, she began to reply with song, a method that had never failed since she was a young child.

"_Angel, I hear you._

_Should I listen?_

_Are you the one to guide me?_

_Angel, my heart says please,_

_Don't leave me,_

_Sing to me, strange angel." _

Indecision was clear on her face, as if Christine wasn't sure whether or not she meant what she sang. Erik only needed to hear her say one simple sentence, just one, and he would take her. But her decision was his, and the outcome of his fate depended on what she truly wanted.

"_I am your angel of music…_

_Have you forgotten your angel of music?" _

Christine was perfectly still for the longest second Erik could have imagined, and then just one syllable escaped her lips.

"No."

"Tell me, angel," Erik whispered. "Tell me what you want. Tell me."

And then, Christine told him.

"_I want my angel."_

Erik scooped her into his arms without causing her to stir one bit, and he couldn't help but kiss her on the forehead ever so softly, and he could have sworn he saw a smile on her lips afterwards.

He climbed out the window and into the crisp, cool air of the night, and whispered one last thing to the angel lying in his arms.

"_Let the dream begin."_

_

* * *

_

A/N: **Please tell me what you thought of it.**

**And also, I have a story suggestion. It's called A Visit From The Past, by my good friend **phantomphan2000**. Her story is awesome, so check it out!**

**My sister **peaceloveandchrist **also has a phantom story that she wants ya'll to read! **

**Anyways, please review, and thank you for everyone who reviewed the last chapter. Remember, I'll send a short sneak peek of the next chapter for those who do take the time to review.  
If anyone has anything they want to see, any suggestions of some sort, tell me, too!**

Happy late Halloween, eat lots of candy! (:


	4. Chapter IV

**Stolen**

**Chapter 4: évasion  
**_translation: Escape_

A/N: **I'm so sorry that I didn't update sooner! School has been busy, as have my weekends, but I should give excuses so I'm just going to post the chapter. This is my favorite chapter so far, and I think you guys will really like it! Thanks so much to everyone for your support... And, well, enjoy! Also, you will notice that from here on this story will have quite a few allusions/references to Susan Kay's book **Phantom. **If you have read the book, you will see what I mean... (:**

* * *

The carriage came to a sudden stop, causing Christine to stir as her eyelids fluttered frenziedly.

"We have arrived, Monsieur," Charles, the carriage driver announced. Erik nodded, glancing out the window at the ivy-covered home that brought back countless memories, most of them unbearably painful. If those memories were so painful, then why had he come back to this god-forsaken house in the small village of Boscherville anyways? All inhabitants of it were deceased, as far as he knew.

Erik had told himself so many years ago that he would never return to this house. Yet, here he was, but this time, he was not alone.

Charles flitted to the left side of the carriage, about to lift Christine (who was still sound asleep) and help her down, but Erik was there before Charles could lay a finger on her.

"I will take over from here," Erik spat darkly. Charles didn't dare give a reply- the look in Erik's eyes was enough to frighten a fearless warrior.

He scooped her into his arms in one swift movement, his warm cloak still covering her pale arms. Erik fumbled in his pocket, pulling out a handful of coins and handing them to Charles. He instructed the driver to then get far away from the house, and to never tell a soul of it.

The drug still hadn't worn off, and it was still pitch black outside, the moon covered by dark clouds. The ride from the Paris countryside hadn't been a long one, just a little over an hour. Erik found it quite ironic that the de Chagny residence happened to be rather close to his own childhood town.

The house was still when he walked through the front door, with an almost eerie feel to it. Erik only needed one hand to carry Christine, and for the first time that night he realized how light she was. It seemed as though she had lost at least ten pounds since the last time he had held her. Immediately, Erik was angered. Was that fool not feeding her enough? Surely he should have been giving her the proper nutrition she needed!

With his free hand, he lit a few candles and then decided to take Christine to her room. Erik could tell that she desperately needed a great deal of sleep, and a warm, comfortable bed would do the trick for sure. He traveled down the narrow hallway and into the largest room in the house, the one he had been absolutely forbidden to enter as a child. He did not like associating Christine's room with a blurred, beautiful face that the room once belonged to, but it was the nicest of them all and for Christine, he would sacrifice his own pain from long ago.

As he laid Christine gently onto the soft sheets, pulling the covers over her, she wore a peaceful smile, and Erik couldn't help but smile back. He had a surreal feeling at the time, hardly believing that this was actually happening- that Christine really was once again under his wing.

After slipping a rose onto her bedside table, Erik resorted to the den and sat before the grand piano, one of the many instruments he had moved from the opera house. All of his furniture had also been transferred, as the house had been empty besides a few peculiar shards of glass and dust.

Erik let the music surround him, surrendering to its unyielding power. He wasn't aware of anything but the melody which poured from his very soul, developing in his heart and into the tips of his dancing fingers that moved up and down the black and white keys. He didn't notice a candle's flame die out behind him for no reason. He didn't notice how loud he was beginning to play, and he powerful and dark his music was becoming. And, he certainly did not notice a figure standing behind him, still as a statue, completely absorbed in the spell-binding music that encircled her.

Erik's composition ended on a last, wavering note that didn't quite seem happy, yet not sad either. It was as if the entire ending was undecided…

He ascended from the piano and nearly jumped when he saw Christine staring at him, clutching the crimson rose against her chest. He cursed the deceitful man who had promised him that the drug would last through the night, and then thanked God that his mask was still on.

"Erik," she whispered, once she had gotten a hold of herself and snapped out of the dream she was trapped in. "Why have you brought me here?"

Erik cackled his sinister laugh, a mysterious glint in his bright eyes. "Oh, Christine," he shook his head. "I honestly thought that you would be smart enough to answer that question yourself. But I suppose you are still the same child you were three months ago."

Christine tried not to let it show, but she was hurt by his insults. "Well… if you're just going to insult me I don't see a point in being here at all!" She huffed angrily, turning her back to Erik.

Erik sighed, and then slowly walked towards her with a softer approach.

"I'm sorry, that was inconsiderate of me," he said sincerely. "Please, come with me, I would like to show you something, now that you're awake." He offered her his hand, expecting her to obey and take it.

But, Christine simply ignored his gloved hand and apology, stomping back to the room stubbornly. Erik's hand lingered in the air, and a pained expression flitted across his eyes. The familiar feeling of rejection returned to him. He didn't bother forcing her to stop. Instead, he told himself that she would find trust in her angel in time, the trust she tucked away as soon as that stupid boy had come along…

* * *

Christine smiled with satisfaction. Finally, she had managed to open the window in her room. She could never have imagined a window being so impossibly heavy!

Her first thought as soon as she had realized that Erik had kidnapped her was to run away. Of course, that hypnotic music had gotten a hold of her first… But now, Christine was determined to free herself from her captor's clutches. Her plan was not very thought-out nor was it intelligent. She decided to literally jump out of the window (which was luckily on the first floor) and run. She had no idea where she was, nor did she know how she would find out.

Carefully, Christine eased her legs out of the window, searching desperately for the ground. Inch by inch, she lowered herself with the little arm muscle she had, legs flailing wildly beneath her. A light tap on the tip of her right toe told Christine that she had found land, and she sighed with relief as she let go of the window, standing sturdily on precious ground.

Glancing around, she had to squint to see clearly. It was still rather dark, and Christine could tell it was sometime in the early morning hours. Christine was aware that she was standing in a flowerbed of some sort, but there weren't any flowers planted, just dried up soil that had almost transformed into mud. A murky drizzle encircled her body, causing the hairs on her arm to stand on end.

After a few minutes of scouring the yard, Christine spotted a chipped picket fence that came up to her shoulder. She trudged through the mud, throwing her shoes off out of pure annoyance in the process. Christine's face was a fuming red by the time she reached the fence, mud covering from her toes to the hem of her dress.

Now that she was closer, the fence seemed a whole lot taller and more intimidating than it had before.

Gulping, Christine began to climb.

And she did not get very far before she was stuck.

"How _lovely_," she muttered, tugging her dress, frantically trying (and failing) to free herself. It had somehow managed to wrap around the bottom of the wooden plank- just Christine's luck.

She swore under her breath as she heard a long rip come from her dress. As if things could get any worse, the rain suddenly became much heavier, pelting Christine with chilly drops of glistening water. She wanted to scream in frustration, but held her tongue.

A soft, yet dark sound emerged from behind her, so quiet it could've been just a whisper of the wind.

It was laughter.

Christine froze from her struggling, not sure what to say or do. So, she remained silent, hoping, praying that maybe by some chance the laughter was just an illusion, and she was really alone in the pitch black night.

"Did you honestly believe that you would be able to escape the clutches of _The Phantom of the Opera_?" Erik purred, coming nearer to Christine. She heard his light footsteps growing louder, and in a matter of seconds he was in her line of vision. His masked face was brighter than the moon itself, or it at least seemed that way to Christine. Erik wore a devilish grin; his eyes alight with apparent amusement. The relentless rain didn't seem to bother him one bit.

"Now, would you like some help with… _that_?" He eyed the tangled mess that the hem of Christine's dress had become, obviously suppressing laughter.

"I don't need your help," Christine spat with an acidic anger that could've caused a flash of lightning.

"Oh really?" Erik raised an eyebrow. "And I suppose you know your way back to the de Chagny residence as well, correct? _Of course_, and you must also know precisely where you are at the moment as well." Sarcasm sounded so sinister coming from Erik's tongue, only reminding Christine of how dreadfully helpless she really was.

She sighed in defeat, inwardly groaning with frustration. Christine felt tears collecting in her eyes, though she wasn't quite sure if they were from aggravation, fright, anger or all of those emotions at once.

Erik didn't miss the glistening crystals in the corners of her eyes, and his amusement immediately softened. He felt pained in his heart, and he longed to soothe and comfort Christine, just as he used to when she was young in the dark cellars of the Opera House. He had always hated seeing her cry, each falling tear piercing through him like a dagger.

"Let me help you, Christine," he whispered, starting to remove his pocket knife from his pocket so he could cut the knotted dress. With a swift '_snip', _she was free. The sudden liberty was unexpected, and Christine came inches from the mud before a strong pair of arms caught her just in time.

"Thanks," she muttered as Erik helped her stand, her voice still irritated. Erik let out a deep sigh, rolling his eyes.

"Christine, please forget your anger, as it does nothing to-"

"How on earth do you expect me _not_ to be angry?" Christine didn't hold anything back now. She let her anger surface, all fear left behind as she stared directly into Erik's eyes. "You took me away from my home! You kidnapped me, Erik! Do you not understand? I'm not a child anymore! I'm not going to follow you wherever you go, listen to whatever you say, do whatever you tell me to do! You don't own me!" Christine's nails dug into her skin, nearly breaking through.

Erik took a deep breath, struggling to keep his voice level. "Just listen to your angel, Christine, listen to me for once…"

"_Listen to you for once_?!" Christine cried hysterically, staggering backwards. "Oh, I listened to you. Do you not remember _letting_ me go?! I didn't make that choice, Erik, you did! You… you used to be my angel. I used to look at you for guidance, for friendship… Someone to help me through those endless tears, the loss of my father, my unyielding nightmares… but now… Now you're just… just a monster." The last word to escape her lips was only a whisper, a whisper filled with hate.

Erik did not know how to reply. He stumbled over words in his head, not sure whether or not to try and say anything to Christine.

"Let us go inside… The rain will make you ill." Erik offered his hand, knowing that she would decline it. She did, walking right past him without speaking a word. He noticed her bare feet, muttering to himself that she would surely trip any second now over a strewn branch or something of that sort…

"Oh!"

Christine plummeted downwards and into the mud, this time too far away for her angel to rescue her. Erik sprinted to her side, bending down without a second thought of how dirty and muddy he was by now.

"Christine, are you all right?" He asked in a hurried tone, searching her face for any signs of pain.

"I'm fine; I can handle myself, thank you." She hid her embarrassment well, and only Erik could see it, the person who knew her better than anyone else.

Christine began to stand, putting her weight only on her left leg. She shifted to her right, and then cried out in pain. Erik caught her by the arms, making sure she was steady. His eyes were frantic as he bent to scrutinize Christine's ankle, which was indeed injured.

"You must have twisted it," he murmured, standing from his crouched position. "Come, I must examine it inside where I can see more clearly," Erik said, beginning to gather Christine in his arms.

"What are you doing?!" She demanded, shocked.

"Well, I'm surely not going to allow you to walk on it!" He lifted Christine and she gasped as he didn't stop his quick pace towards the direction of the house.

"Put me down, Erik!" Christine squirmed in protest, desperate to free herself, even if it meant falling in the mud yet again. "Let me go!"

"You're injured, Christine. Don't be ridiculous." Erik didn't loosen his grasp the slightest bit.

"Let… me… go!"

Erik couldn't contain his laughter, and he shook his head side to side. Christine was quite a sight. Her dress was destroyed by now, the entire hem and some of the lower half ripped to shreds. A wet glob of hair lay on the top of her head. She was soaked to the bone, not an inch of her body dry. And, Christine was squirming and thrashing like a diseased dog, having no avail in freeing herself.

"If you would stay still, it would make this much easier, you know," Erik told her. "I would hate to bring out that drug again, just because of a lack of cooperation…"

"You drugged me?!" Christine shrieked, still at last. "You drugged me! Of course you did! What else am I supposed to expect from me beloved _angel._" She snapped. "You see, Erik! Two can play the game of sarcasm!"

Erik ignored her, opening the front door of the house and entering the living room. He carefully set Christine on a beautiful couch, which she recognized from his lair in the catacombs of the Opera House. After lighting a few candles, he gathered a rag, a long wrap that was used for injuries such as Christine's, and a pain medication from a cabinet.

"Let me just look at it, and then you will be free from me for the rest of the night." Erik said, sitting on his knees before her. "Now, tell me if this hurts." He put a very light finger on the swollen part of her ankle. Christine flinched a little, but did not cry out.

"A little."

Erik nodded seriously. "And this…"

Now he increased the pressure and Christine grinded her teeth while taking in a sharp breath.

"Yes, yes, that hurts," she mumbled, trying her best to not show her pain. Erik then began to clean her ankle with the rag, ridding it of any mud. With the gauze, he skillfully weaved an expert wrap around her ankle, exceptionally cautious. Christine watched as he secured the wrap, her eyes following his dexterous hands.

"I have pain medication, if you would prefer to take some," Erik nodded to the bottle he had set on the wooden table. Christine nodded sleepily, a fatigue seeping into her bones. It was far past the hour she usually stayed up, and she was too tired to comment or protest.

It was a remedy that Erik had made himself, something learned from his days at the gypsies so many years ago. Pouring a small amount into a silver spoon, he let Christine take it herself. Her face twisted at the taste, but she swallowed every last bit of it. Erik smiled softly, and helped her up from the couch.

"If you do not want me to carry you, then you can simply use my support to-"

Christine's body swayed suddenly against Erik's side, and he saw that her eyes were fighting to stay open. Without a second thought, he picked her up and took her down the hall and to her room. She mumbled a sleepy protest that neither of them could understand.

He laid Christine onto the bed, placing the covers around her in the same fashion he had down hours ago. Erik took a nightgown out from a dresser and set it at the foot of the bed, knowing that Christine would change into it if she wanted to.

"Goodnight, my angel." He blew out the candle that flickered against the shadows on the wall, leaving the room as dark as the night. "May your dreams let your mind wander..."


	5. Chapter V

_**Stolen**_

**Chapter 5: Dans ****le Piège  
**_translation: _Into the Trap

A/N: **Woolah, here it is, chapter five!  
Thank you to all who have been so supportive. I know when I review stories and authors put my name up there in a chapter it makes me feel special, so I want to make all of yall feel special. So my everlasting thanks to: **Oreal770, haz43, phantomphan2000, CityWolf27, firefly3141, AngelicMinx, **and **StrawberryStoleYourCookie **for reviewing chapter four. (: Arg, I hate when fanfiction wont let me center the title and chapter title. I have OCD-ness about that.... **

Disclaimer: **I do not own Phantom of the Opera, just my plot and some of the characters that were created by me.**

* * *

Raoul was exhausted.

The business trip had lasted for what seemed like years, and had definitely brought many layers of bags under his eyes. The entire time Raoul was thinking, worrying, and dreaming about Christine. Each tick of the clock was time without her, which was utterly useless.

Raoul didn't really know why he worried so much. She wasn't alone in the house, anyways. He trusted that Ann, Martha and Claudette would make sure Christine was well. Maybe she even had a good time conversing with women of her age or at least having their company. Yes, all would be fine. He would return home to a beautiful, smiling face, and their lives would carry on normally.

But as Raoul opened the front door to his large estate, a dreadful feeling of stillness and emptiness came about the house, causing his stomach to drop.

"Hello?" He called softly, looking around. "Christine?"

His own echo was his answer.

Raoul's eyebrows knit with confusion as he removed his hat and jacket. He heard shuffling and murmuring coming from upstairs, trying to pick out Christine's voice, but with no luck. Only the familiar voices of the young maids were heard, and they spoke in a very frantic manner.

_Something must have gone wrong_, Raoul thought with terror. He suddenly felt very sick and lightheaded, as though he would pass out at any moment. His hands found the wall, and Raoul used its support to try and get a hold of himself.

"Welcome home, Monsieur," a small voice squeaked. Raoul raised his head to find Sarah standing at the bottom of the staircase next to Martha. Both maids looked frazzled, disoriented, and incredibly nervous.

"Thank you, Sarah. Now, if you would be so kind to tell me where my fiancée is…" Raoul tried not to let his anxiety show by keeping his voice level. He noticed Sarah's mouth turn into a panicky frown, and she glanced at Martha with a silent plea. Martha exhaled deeply, and began replying to Raoul with the answer he'd been dreading the second he had entered the house.

"Mademoiselle Daaé is…" she paused, struggling with her words. "Well, quite frankly, we don't actually know where she is."

Raoul's face turn as white as new-fallen snow, and his eyes grew wide with alarm. "W- what do you mean _you don't know_ where she is?" He managed, his fingers digging into his flesh.

"This morning when I went to tell her that breakfast was ready, her room was empty, with no sign of where she was." Martha said slowly. "I'm very sorry, but we didn't hear anything at all last night... It frightens me to think that someone else must've been in the house last night and none of us knew it."

"She's gone." Raoul whispered. "Christine is gone."

The words didn't seem to have a meaning. They didn't make sense in that particular order when repeated in Raoul's head. It just wasn't- couldn't be- true.

Suddenly, he dashed off without saying more, leaving Martha and Sarah staring after him.

"I do hope he finds her," Sarah said. "I just can't help but wonder who would take her…"

Martha only nodded, frowning slightly at little Sarah.

Raoul was now in his and Christine's room, out of breath from his sprint. He panted and leaned against the bed, looking frantically around the room.

Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, quite the contrary actually. Everything looked just as how he remembered it to be- the books were all on their shelves, the pillows still on the floor, and a few clothing items were strewn carelessly across chairs and dressers. Yes, nothing strange here…

Raoul groaned in frustration, his fingers knotting in his own hair. He didn't want anything more than to see Christine home and safe at the very second, her soft cheeks lighting up at his return…

He would have to do something to find her. He would do anything and everything it took to get her back into his arms. He wouldn't stop searching until the day she was found…

Raoul rose from the bed, refusing to let himself rest. He would have to begin now. His eyes scoured the room once again, but this time, an object that had slipped past him was as clear as daylight now.

"Oh God, no," he whispered, picking up the crimson rose. "Not him again… Damn it, not him!" Raoul threw the rose against the wall with such force that the petals flew in opposite directions, sprinkling the wooden floor, appearing almost like blood.

At that second, Raoul hated this man. Regardless of all that he had been through, regardless of how he let him and Christine go, he hated him, for just one reason- he had taken her away. She was once again under the ghost's wing…

And only one question plagued Raoul's mind at that very moment. _Would he be able to get her back under his?_

* * *

Christine slept more soundly than she had in a very long time.

It was probably the pain medicine she had taken, because Christine certainly did not have a peaceful night before sleep. No, her head had been brewing with anger, once she had overcome the fear that was still hidden inside of her.

Her thoughts had immediately turned to Raoul the moment she had awoken, perhaps because of a forgotten dream or the empty bed she was in. It was very beautiful and comfortable, but lying there alone, Christine longed for Raoul's familiar face to be beside her…

_Flashback_

"_Oh no!" A young girl shrieked, desperately reaching into thin air for her tumbling scarf. Little Christine wore this scarf everyday; it was one of her prized possessions. Instinctively, she began chasing after the red blur, her eyes fixated only on the scarf._

"_Wait, Christine!" A voice cried, stepping in front of her. "If you go any further, you'll drown in the deep sea!" _

"_But Raoul, I must get my scarf, I must!" She continued to fight against his firm block, pure determination set into her eyes. _

"_No, I'll get it for you," the boy insisted. "You just stay here." _

_Christine nodded, thinking that his was a better idea anyways._

"_Be careful!"_

_Her scarf was in the water by now, being tossed carelessly by the powerful waves. Raoul took a deep breath, inhaling as much oxygen as his small lungs would allow him to, and then dove into the frightening blue sea. _

_Christine held her breath every second, not allowing herself to linger her eyes from the moving blur under the water that was nearly invisible. He remained submerged for what seemed like too long, and Christine began to worry._

"_Oh, why couldn't Papa have retrieved my scarf?" She mumbled out loud. "He's big and strong and could easily get it…" _

_But before she could fret any longer, a drenched little boy emerged from the water, a crimson scarf in his hands. _

"_You got it!" She squealed with delight, and huge grin spreading across her cheeks. Raoul laughed and joined Christine on the rocky shore, handing her the scarf._

"_I believe this is yours!" He said playfully. Christine giggled and gave the soaked child a big hug._

"_Thank you, Raoul," she laughed._

"_Anytime, Little Lotte." _

_End Flashback_

The memory brought a smile to Christine's lips. She longed to be young and carefree again. Her childhood, (that is, before her father died) was still to this day the highlight of her life. It was when she had been the happiest- traveling with her father, staying at the house by the sea, splashing and giggling…

"Christine?" A voice called softly. Her angel's very voice brought goose bumps to her skin, its haunting and mesmerizing tone causing her heart to beat erratically. She tried to remember when she had last heard it, which had been many hours ago. Last night seemed like a distant memory to her. There had been quite a bit of yelling… and falling.

Christine decided not to answer. Maybe, then, he would assume she was still asleep.

"I'm aware that you're awake, but I suppose you're just going to not respond. Well, I am leaving breakfast outside of your door. I suggest you eat it, before it gets cold."

Debating whether or not to respond, Christine simply said the first thing that came to her mind. "I'm not hungry."

Laughter came from behind the door. "Now, I doubt that, Christine. But, do as you wish… I shall be in the attic if you need me. Oh, and take caution with your ankle. It will be difficult to walk with it."

And then he was gone.

Slowly, Christine rose from bed, the fall that occurred last night coming back to her. She had been so angry with him, she hadn't even thought about tripping. Her foolishness then caused Christine to scold herself for not being more careful, now.

The scent of eggs and sausage floated under the crack of the door, but Christine refused to be defeated by a meal. She would not allow herself to give Erik satisfaction, even if it was something as small as eating breakfast.

For a brief second, Christine felt guilty for being so furious with Erik. He hadn't done anything harmful to her yet, he had actually been rather gentlemanly. It was so odd for Christine to see him like this, so different from the murderous Phantom she had known him as…

And then, Christine's guiltiness disappeared at once. He had threatened her, _kidnapped_ her!

Suddenly, she jumped onto her feet, and then immediately regretted doing so, and throbbing pain shooting through her right leg. Though her ankle was meticulously wrapped, it still felt as though lightning was shooting through it.

She had to settle for a pathetic-looking limp, shutting the door behind her. A tray of delicious food sat untouched as she made her way down the long hallway.

Christine found herself perched at the bottom of a staircase, listening intently to the sounds above her. All that she could pick up was shuffling, probably furniture or boxes being moved around, and Erik's footsteps. She tried to hear what he was mumbling…

"She kept them… After all of these years…"

His voice held shock, and deep sadness buried beneath it. Christine didn't have a clue as to what Erik must have been referring to.

Christine wanted so badly to see what he was talking about. Curiosity that was nearly visible was bursting at her fingertips. But, she wasn't entirely comfortable enough around Erik yet to just approach him, let alone be alone with him. Also, her ankle was a bit of an obstacle when it came to stairs.

She let herself wonder through the house, hobbling around on one foot as best as she could. It wasn't a surprise that she had twisted it, for Christine had accumulated quite a number of injuries in her years of dancing.

For some reason, she wounded up in what seemed to be the parlor, the beautiful furniture awing her. When she had seen this furniture in the mysterious lair some time ago, Christine couldn't have imagined a place for it anywhere else. Yet, here it all was, somehow just as magnificent and mystifying as before.

Christine drifted towards the grand piano, the heart-breaking melody Erik had played last night returning to her ears. Hearing Erik play was unlike anything she could ever describe, especially when he sang to her. It seemed like ages ago when he last did, only as her angel of music… and Christine had to admit it- she missed that time. She missed it so, so much…

As she glanced around herself studying the house and what lay beyond it through the windows, a question occurred to Christine that surprisingly hadn't entered her mind until now.

_Where am I?_

And as for the answer; she had no idea.

The thought of this frightened Christine. He really had kidnapped her, taken her to an unknown place. It was so different than that first night she had seen him, when she had descended through the mirror, holding his gloved hand. That night, she had followed Erik by choice.

Suddenly, Christine felt like she was trapped.

_I'm never going to escape_, a small voice inside of her head whispered.

Tears of fear started to gather in her eyes, and she let them fall freely.

"Why are you crying, my dear?"

She jumped at the sound of Erik's voice, and then quickly wiped the tears away from her face. She stood up from the couch, trying not to seem completely defenseless and small.

"Do not feel like you must hide your tears from me," he said softly. "Now, tell me what it is you were crying about."

Christine sighed deeply, wiping the last lingering tears from her cheeks.

"I-I… I was crying… I was crying because I am afraid of you, Erik. I'm afraid of what you plan on doing with me… I'm just frightened." She fought back the tears that threatened to return, trying to keep her voice level.

Pain flitted across Erik's face at that very second. He did not want this. He did not want to be the monster that he knew he was, keeping her trapped against her will.

"Christine, you have to understand that I'm not going to harm you in any way, nor do I have any intentions in doing so."

Christine nodded; listening to him but not sure if she really did trust him. After all that she had been through with her angel of music, she could never be sure whether or not he would remain calm and true to his beautiful voice. At any given moment, he could turn into the monster that lied in his soul.

"What is it that you were doing up in the attic?" Christine suddenly asked, deciding to try and change the subject. Erik sighed, shaking his head.

"Another time..." He decided. Christine nodded, trusting his word for some reason. Her eyes drifted to the piano, and she then wanted something very badly.

"Erik, will you play for me?" She suddenly asked, her eyes pleading. "I would just like to hear one song."

Erik smiled, pleased with Christine's request, sitting down at the piano.

"Of course."

* * *

A/N: 

**_Into the trap Christine has fallen,_**

**_And Raoul is on the hunt, along with his maid._**

**_Time may change Erik and Christine..._**

**_But will she be found before becoming his prey?_**

**Reviews**** tell me what needs to change and what needs to stay. I am always open to suggestions if anyone has one. Remember, if you do not review, a disaster beyond your imagination will occur...**


	6. Chapter VI

_**Stolen**_

**Chapter 6: ****Un Passé Solitaire  
**_translation: _A Lonely Past

A/N: **Hello all! I just decided to give a little update. (: Happy Thanksgiving! Also, I want to thank new anonymous reviewer **ShadowsWing**. Unfortunately I cannot reply to your reviews, but thank you so much for giving me your input! **

**By the way, this chapter is very Kay influenced. You'll see what I mean.**Disclaimer: **Nope, still don't own Phantom.  
Credit for this chapter goes to Andrew Lloyd Webber (as always) and the wonderful Susan Kay.**

* * *

Christine didn't know why she was doing this.

To be honest, she was being reckless and quite stupid for even thinking of such a thing… She was just being her naïve and careless self that she had tried denying.

But her curiosity had gotten the better of her, which was why she was now _trying_ to tip-toe into the attic, closing the creaky door behind her as quietly as she could manage. Getting herself up the stairs had been a challenge, and she practically crawled most of the way.

Papers were strewn every which way in the attic, nearly covering the entire wooden floor. Dust coated some sheets with crisped edges, while others only looked a few years old. There wasn't any furniture in the attic at all.

Christine hobbled over to the first paper she had spotted, confused at what she saw.

It was some sort of design for a building, a sketch. It was obviously done by an architect, considering how beautiful and well-done the sketch was. But why would Erik have these drawings? Questions filled Christine's head, and she decided that she would have to try and answer them herself.

The next piece she picked up wasn't as out of the ordinary as the sketch. It was a stack of music, bound together by only a thin ribbon. Christine's eyes scanned the ink-written musical notes, and she subconsciously hummed along to the melody. Upon hearing her own voice, she immediately knew that no one but Erik could have written this music.

In awed silence, Christine carefully sifted through papers that surrounded her. Each one was filled with something incredible, whether it was Erik's heart-breaking music or a magnificent sketch of a building. Sometimes other sketches were mixed in with the piles upon piles of music, sketches of tools or inventions that Christine couldn't understand. A few sketches even contained drawings of mirrors…

"Christine?"

She froze, dropping an intricate drawing of a Parisian structure, her eyes following it as it fluttered to the wooden floor.

"Christine," The voice was becoming angrier. "What are you-?"

"I'm sorry, Erik," she interrupted hastily. "I know I shouldn't I have come up here… This wasn't right, looking through your belongings… I'm truly sorry."

A rough hand grabbed her shoulder suddenly, jolting her around to face the masked man. His eyes glinted with anger, causing Christine's stomach to knot up.

"Ah, yes, I _do_ remember telling you that I would share this with you at a later date." Erik spat, his voice almost sounding like a growl. Christine was too frightened to reply.

"So, you were looking at these, were you?" He grabbed a few papers from the ground, ripping them immediately. He then hurled the papers with a great amount of force, and Christine watched in horror as he continued to destroy each piece of work. "Christine, I hate every single one of these designs! Every sketch, every piece of music… I hate them all!" He fumed with anger as he tore his work into shreds, word by word, paper by paper…

"Erik, stop!"

Christine couldn't take it anymore. She could not let him destroy these remarkable pieces of art.

"Please, don't rip them! They're beautiful, every single one! I know you wrote this music… you did, Erik, and you have no reason to hate it!"

Erik spun around to face Christine, now wearing a bitter smirk on his face.

"No reason, Christine? No reason!" He shook his head, letting out a sour chortle. "_You know nothing." _Erik paused, pacing a couple of times. He bent down and picked up one sheet of music, his eyes scrutinizing it for a brief second before he crumpled it into a piece of rubbish.

"I did not write _that_ one, Christine, no… I must have been three the first time I sang that for Father Mansart… and my mother…" Erik spat it as if it were acid on his tongue. "These songs, these sketches… they destroyed me, Christine! They destroyed her, too! She hated it when I sang, when I sketched something that I had thought was wonderful… She hated me, and I hated her. And I hate every single one of these pieces of paper, every single thing in this house!"

Erik stormed opposite of Christine, his gloved fists balled tighter than humanly possible.

"Erik, I," Christine began softly, but was soon interrupted by a furious, booming voice.

"Silence, Christine! Just… just be silent, let me be, unless you wish to accumulate another injury." He threatened harshly. Christine's face turn pale, and she couldn't bring herself to say anything to that. As fearful tears clouded her vision, she limped out of the attic as quickly as she could, leaving a masked monster alone in the attic.

* * *

His entire childhood surrounded him, demolished.

His knees could no longer hold him, and Erik sunk to the floor along with destroyed masterpieces that he had once created.

All at once, everything came crashing down on him. It was as if all of the sadness of the world was contained in one person at that moment. And, for the first time in weeks… he cried.

Erik tossed his mask aside, letting the hot tears fall freely down his face. Slowly, he looked around at everything he had done.

_Why have I done this? _

And for that, he had not an answer.

Erik thought of Christine, regret filling his thoughts. He had threatened to hurt her. He had yelled at her, lost his temper before her eyes. He must have terrified her.

_I am a bloody idiot._

In less than a second, all of his self-pity was forgotten, and Erik only cared about Christine. He rose from his crouched position, putting his mask back in place. With one last glance around the room, he dashed down the stairs, wanting nothing more than to apologize to Christine.

Erik didn't bother calling for her, for he knew that she wouldn't answer. Expecting her to be in her room, he knocked lightly on the door, which swung open, to his surprise. Christine was not there.

Knitting his eyebrows, Erik traveled down the hallway, checking each room, finding them all empty. Eventually, his was the only room he hadn't looked in yet. A bit frantic by now, Erik burst into the room. He found it to be vacant.

Erik ran his fingers through his hair as he paced in the living room. _Where could she be? _Just as a feeling of hopelessness washed over him, he spotted something moving outside of the window, in the garden.

Relief washed over Erik while he stepped outside into the cool spring air. Christine was kneeling by a forgotten flowerbed, her lips unmoving. Her eyes didn't waver from whatever she was staring at. It seemed as though she was in an entirely different world by the empty expression in her eyes…

"Don't worry, I'm not going to try and run away again." She whispered, her eyes still motionless. Erik stepped closer to Christine and she flinched back, her eyes now alert and worried.

"Christine, what I did was inexcusable." Erik said quietly. "I never should have threatened nor yelled at you… my behavior was completely uncalled-for."

"Yes. It was." Christine's voice was icy cold.

Erik sighed deeply, retreating to the door.

"I suppose if you're going to stay out here all night then I can't tell you why I had those drawings…"

Christine glanced up, curiosity returning to her at once. "Will you tell me, Erik? Will you please?"

"Well," he began, a small smile forming on his lips. "I don't really have much of a choice, now do I?"

* * *

Christine had settled herself on the grand couch, and Erik took his seat at the piano stool, his fingers not yet touching the keys. She waited patiently for Erik to speak, as he sorted through thoughts and distant memories in his head. He knew it would be extremely painful to tell her his story, for he had only done so once to a young ballerina, long ago…

"I assume that you know that most of the songs were written by me." He began. Christine nodded, all of her attention focused solely on Erik. "And the drawings… they were made by me also."

"They were so beautiful," she breathed. Erik nodded sharply.

"Christine, do you know _when_ I made those drawings, _when_ I wrote those songs?" He asked patiently. Christine raised her eyebrows, and she slowly shook her head.

"I created everything in that attic before I turned nine."

There was no response that Christine could come up with to that. She sat in stunned silence as Erik rose from the piano bench and began pacing the room.

"But… how?" She eventually asked.

Erik's pacing yielded, and he approached Christine cautiously, looking her square in the eyes.

"Would you like me to tell you of my childhood, Christine?"

Christine's eyes widened and she could not answer him for a second. Erik's past had always been so much of a mystery to her, something that had been forever in the darkness. There was one time when she thought she knew much of her angel, but now, she realized; she knew almost nothing at all.

"Yes."

Erik nodded. "Very well."

He took a seat at the piano bench once again, not yet playing but prepared to do so. Sometimes, music could get him through anything, even if it was something as painful as his forbidden past.

"I was born in this very house many years ago," he began, not missing the drop of Christine's jaw as realization of where she was hit her. "My mother did not want to name me after my dead father, because of my face, so I was named after the priest and baptized immediately." He continued, his fingers starting to produce a melody on the black and white keys. "The first article of clothing I wore was a mask, sewn by my mother. She was terrified of me, Christine. And she hated me the second I was born…"

Haunting music filled the silence, and Erik tried accessing the part of his mind that he had purposefully locked away. Memories were blurry and unclear, yet he continued steadily.

"I had a dog, named Sasha," Erik recalled. "Sasha… I believe that was my first word… Yes…"He trailed off, his eyes becoming heavy as he remembered the horrible death his pet had to face. Erik was then reminded of the drawings and music above him, the reason he was telling Christine his story now.

"I was interested in architecture at a very young age," Erik said, hands still lingering on the keys. "I could've made a thousand designs in one day, if I wanted to. I think that I had a tutor sometime, perhaps… And the songs..., I could have written music for days at a time. And sometimes, I did."

A vivid memory entered Erik's mind at that moment, and his hands immediately froze over the piano. Christine did not say anything, she only waited.

Erik's voice was only a whisper when he spoke.

"It was on my fifth birthday that I saw my face for the first time."

He struggled to keep his composure, forcing himself to concentrate only on the music he was playing.

"I thought it was a monster that had somehow gotten inside of the mirror… I was wrong, Christine, so wrong… I was that monster."

Uncertain images took up the next few years of his life, so Erik spoke of years later.

"I ran away from home at the age of nine, and joined a camp of gypsies soon afterwards. I was their main attraction- The Devil's Child, they called me." Erik shuttered at the memory of the cold, hard whip coming down on his back. "They whipped me if I didn't make enough money. They whipped me if I didn't remove my mask. And the ones who came to watch- they laughed at me." Erik's voice was bitter and harsh, yet Christine could still hear pain buried beneath it.

"I was around the age of 13 when a young ballerina who actually had a heart rescued me from the gypsies."

"Madame Giry," Christine whispered.

"Yes," Erik nodded. "She took me to the opera house, and in its catacombs I remained. She tried to show me that there was another option, that darkness and solitude weren't the only way… Tried, but did not succeed."

Erik seized from his playing, and he turned around to see Christine's tear covered cheeks. Slowly, his gloved fingers wiped the tears away, and Christine shook her head sorrowfully.

"I'm so sorry Erik… No one… _No one_ should ever have to live a life such as yours."

Erik shook his head. "Pity isn't going to help anyone."

Christine slowly began asking a question that she needed to hear the answer to.

"Do you still believe it?" She whispered.

"Do I still believe what, Christine?"

"That... that solitude is the only life for you. Do you still think that?"

Erik was silent for only a second.

"Considering all that has occurred since… well, since the day I was born… Yes, as much as I do not wish to, I still believe it."

Suddenly, Christine burst into tears, sobs shaking her body. She could not stop herself, nor could she hold back anything that was about to come out of her mouth.

"Erik… I-I'm so sorry for everything that I've ever done to you! How… how could I have been so heartless to have done such a thing? You have every right to hate me, Erik. But you don't! Oh, but you should…" Christine continued to cry, and ever so carefully, Erik stroked her hair gently.

"Christine, you did it because… because you loved-" Erik paused, and with difficulty corrected himself. "Love him."

"Oh, Erik… How could I have removed your mask in front of them all? Why did I- How could I-." Christine was taken by tears once more, and Erik patiently waited, setting his hand atop of hers lightly. When she finally had a hold of herself, Erik helped her stand from the couch and looked at her solemnly.

"What's done is done, and is now in the past." He told Christine. "Perhaps we should both forget what has happened… and perhaps you can show me that darkness is not my only future."

And for that, Christine did not have an answer.

* * *

Madeline hesitantly took a step closer to Monsieur de Chagny's office. She was utterly shy when it came to approaching people, but she knew that this was something that must be done, and soon.

She lightly tapped on the wooden door twice, and then regretted doing so. _I should have waited… He must be busy, and oh, what if gets angry with me for bothering him? _

"Come in." His voice was surprisingly level, and Madeline breathed a sigh of relief as she entered the room.

Raoul was situated at his desk with his head in his hands, obviously exhausted and stressed beyond comparison. He glanced at Madeline, and then straightened up, surprised to see the young maid in front of him.

"Yes, Madeline, did you need something?"

Madeline bit her tongue, and then built up her courage to tell him what she needed to say.

"I know who took her. I know _exactly _who took her. It was the opera ghost, Monsieur. I know it was him."

Raoul's eyes widened for one reason only- because she was right.

And at that second, Madeline knew by the look on his face that she was absolutely, positively correct, and that he knew it as well.

"I will help you find her, Monsieur. I will." Her voice was determined and sincere. She really did want to help find Christine.

"Yes," Raoul nodded, mainly to himself. "Well, I must arrange something… I believe I know where our journey will begin."

"And where might that be?" Madeline asked curiously, no longer as shy or afraid of her master.

Raoul cleared his throat, and spoke with a dreading tone.

"The Paris Opera House."

* * *

**I hope y'all liked this installment! **

**Please tell me what you liked and (if you want) didn't like about it. Oh, and constructive criticism is fine with me too, I wont freak out about it or anything.**

**Thank you so much for reading!**


	7. Chapter VII

_**Stolen  
**__**  
**_**Chapter 7: ****Angoissante Amour  
**_translation: _Agonizing Love

A/N: **I used to always be a chapter ahead when I updated. Now I'm not. But, oh well, I just decided to post this.  
This chapter is actually kind of short, but I really liked the way it turned out. So if you don't mind the length, I think y'all will enjoy it. (:**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Phantom. **

* * *

Christine felt as if the walls of the rather large room would close in on her at any second.

She was trapped inside her mind, not able to escape. She had been sitting with her head between her hands for over an hour. And Erik knew. He knew why she was doing this, and what he had said. He knew.

Christine knew. And it was driving her insane. It was, in fact, that something he had said, something that was causing Christine's madness at the moment.

_Perhaps you can show me that darkness is not my only future._

She wanted to, god, she wanted to.

_Raoul._

She loved him. She loved Raoul so much, and there wasn't anything she could do about it. If she could control it, she would just tell her heart to pick one of them, just one. Just one…

But she could not.

Erik was her angel of music. Erik was her light in the darkest of nights as she cried endlessly from the loss of her father. And though Erik was sometimes her light, he was darkness itself. Erik was a broken soul that she wanted to make whole, who she now knew so much more about, which only made it so much more difficult to watch him live in the dark. She wanted to show him light and happiness, and that he wasn't forced to live a lonely life. But, she couldn't.

Raoul was her childhood friend, and familiar face of safety and light. Raoul would always love and cherish her. He would never yell at her… he would never appear as frightening to Christine. Raoul was Christine's sense of security. And for that reason, she was afraid of losing him, afraid of a life without him.

_Erik, you are driving me mad!_

Christine was nearly pulling out her hair by now. She tried to cover her ears to shut away the music that emerged from close, but nothing could keep the music out of her head, or out of her heart.

_But there is method to all madness._

And what was the reason for this madness? The answer was simply, really.

_Erik, you are the method to my madness. You are the music to my magic, the monster in my mind._

And as much as Christine hated it… she needed him. She wanted him.

_Oh, my angel, how you make my heart hurt and my head ache…_

* * *

Christine was not the only person engulfed in madness.

Erik pounded on the keys, releasing all of his anger, sadness, confusion, misery and regret.

She had not answered him.

She had not answered him…

He wanted her to show him the way out of the darkness. He wanted her to hold his hand and lead him to the light, away from the cold life that he had always known.

She wouldn't.

He knew, now.

Such despair he saw in her eyes the moment that sentence had escaped from his lips. Such pity he had seen. Such helplessness had her eyes conveyed. But, there wasn't anything more. There was not a sense of hopefulness. There was not a yearning to help him, to do just what he had asked of her.

It was because she loved _him._

She still loved Raoul, who would always be a safe haven to her. And Erik knew this.

So why did he even bother trying to earn her heart back?

He was her angel of music, and nothing more.

She held his heart, yet he did not hold hers.

_And when you took your heart, Christine, you took me with you._

He had taken his chance. He had tried to win Christine's heart. He had tried.

And she didn't choose him.

_Erik may have been a phantom, but he was not bulletproof._

Everything came crashing upon him at that moment, and he crumpled to the ground, feeling more like a child than he ever had before. His sensitive ears picked up sobs from somewhere in the house, and they weren't his own.

Christine.

She could not handle it.

She was a child, simply a child.

And Erik would not- could not- break her.

At that second, Erik realized that he had made a mistake.

And what a mistake it was.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Christine tossed and turned vigorously, on top of all of the covers. She mumbled wordlessly in her sleep, screaming every now and then. Moments earlier, all of her chaotic thoughts had somehow disappeared and been replaced with fatigue. Now, instead of being trapped inside of her thoughts, she was trapped inside of her dreams.

_In darkness he sat, bent over with his hands grasping his face. Both screams of utter repulsion and laughter emerged from the crowd that surrounded him. One of his hands searched frantically for his mask, while the other tried to cover his face. _

_Christine was the closest of all to the cage. She stared with cold, empty eyes at the boy who was trapped. She saw the tears that he cried, and she heard his yelps of pain when he was whipped. But she remained emotionless. _

"_Christine," a young Erik whispered. "Save me." _

_She didn't move._

"_Save me," he begged once more._

_She shook her head slowly._

"_I can't, angel, I can't. I can't… I can't…"Christine muttered it over and over again, having no control over the words which escaped from her mouth. _

_And then, Erik was transformed._

_His eyes no longer held the sadness of the world, but the anger of a demon. In a swift movement, he swung a lasso over the gypsy that towered over him, killing him without a thought. And suddenly, he killed every audience member without even moving. They were all dead, and Erik wore an evil smile, staring at the only person left alive._

_The last thing Christine saw was a lasso swinging over her head._

She jolted awake, tears streaming down her face as she struggled to catch her breath.

"Why?" She whispered. "Why?!" She repeated, this time much louder and more demanding.

Erik came in at that second, his eyes holding a mixture of all of the emotions she had seen in her dream.

Before he could utter a word, Christine screamed something that caused him to stagger backwards.

"_Why did you kill_?"

Erik stayed completely still, watching as Christine's cold, demanding eyes blinked away her tears.

"Tell me, Erik! Tell me! Why did you kill them all? Why?"

Erik apprehensively stepped closer to Christine, yet still keeping a safe distance between the two of them. He argued with himself inside of his mind, knowing that he was about to do something that he would probably regret. With a deep inhale, he began answering Christine.

"I killed… I killed because I am monster, Christine. I am a demon of the night, a gargoyle, a rotting carcass. You know this, Christine. You know. _This," _Erik slowly removed his mask from his face, "_This_ is why I have killed."

Christine didn't dare speak a reply. She was beyond words at what Erik had just done; blatantly removed his mask. She was not in shock at his actual distortion, no, his haunting face no longer frightened her.

"But the real reason behind nearly everything I have done and every person I have murdered… I have killed for you, Christine. I have killed for you." Erik put the mask back on his face.

"For me?" She breathed, shaking her head. "No. No, no, no, no. I am not the reason you killed all of those people. You killed stagehands for your own pleasure, did you not? You killed them because you were angry at them. You killed long before you met me, Erik. You did."

"Christine," Erik began in a sincere voice. "You know by now that you hold my heart, and that I would do anything for you. How else would you have gotten your fame at the Opera Populaire without me? Why do you think I hurt Carlotta, and any other person that got in your way? It was not just fun and games, my dear. Now, I have done inexcusable deeds in the past that I am fully aware of, and I cannot say that I regret everything I have done. Perhaps I just regret living, being born," he finished in a melancholy tone, sighing.

Christine remained silent, deciding to herself that she no longer wished to discuss this matter.

"Erik… I'm going to… Please, I need time… to…"

And with that, she was done. Erik obeyed her unsaid wishes, retreating slowly towards the dark hallways he was once again forced to roam.

_He had to ask her._

He had to.

* * *

He waited the most agonizing hour of his life before he could no longer take it.

She had been alone in her room, Erik alone in his.

He couldn't live a second longer not knowing.

In one swift movement, he rose from his flawlessly made bed. Erik exited the room, accidentally slamming the door behind him, yet not even hearing the echoing sound that was produced. Step by step he walked as quickly as he could. The hallway seemed to be getting longer and longer…

"I must discuss something with you, Christine," Erik whispered breathlessly as he whirled the door open and entered Christine's room. She looked up from her crouched position, startled, eyes wide and alert. Once she had realized what Erik had said, she nodded with a frown, not sure if she really wanted to hear what he had to say.

"You love him." He said. No name was needed. Christine nodded.

She knew who Erik was talking about. And she did love him.

"I brought you here against your will." Once again, Christine agreed. "Because I love you."

Christine swallowed, and waited, knowing that there was more. Knowing, knowing, knowing, waiting, waiting, waiting…

"Christine, I am going to ask you one question, and you are going to answer it. You are not going to protest, you are not going to get around the answer, and you are not going to leave this house until you answer the question. I will give you anything you wish, so long as you answer my question."

Anything she wished? Did that include- did she even want- ? What question could be _that _important, hold _that_ much meaning?

"Christine, do you love me?"


	8. Chapter VIII

_**Stolen**_

**Chapter 8: Lointain Nuages  
_translation: _Distant Clouds**

**A/N: I know I left y'all off with the most evil of all cliffhangers in the last chapter, so here is chapter eight. Enjoy.**

**Disclaimer: No yo tengo Fantasma. **

_**Previously:**_

_**"Christine, do you love me?" **_

* * *

Christine's throat locked up, and she could not breathe for a number of seconds.

Her face was as pale as- well, as pale as a phantom's.

"Erik," she finally managed once she could speak. "Erik, I - I don't - I cannot -" She stuttered, feeling utterly hopeless and desperate. She knew that she could not avoid answering Erik's question. But how, _how _could she answer him?

She tried once more, saying something – anything - that her mind could produce.

"I don't know how to answer you, Erik, because if I do answer your question I - I don't really think that… I don't know if -"

And her words were cut off when a pair of lips crushed against hers.

At first, she did not try to push him away.

At first, she kissed him back.

She did not want to pull away, or scream, or stop. She wanted to feel what she was feeling - passion, love, fire, and bliss - forever.

But within seconds, she was pushing Erik away, gasping and screaming against all of the emotions that were brewing inside of her.

"Erik!" She shrieked. "How could you have done such a -"

"Tell me you didn't feel something!" Erik demanded, his eyes ablaze. "Tell me that, Christine! Did you not want me? Did you not feel _anything_? Did I feel like some cold, heartless statue or a rotting carcass? Was kissing me like kissing death itself, Christine, was it?! Tell me, Christine; honestly tell me if you didn't feel -"

"I felt something, Erik, ok!" Christine shouted furiously over Erik's voice, surprising the both of them.

At that moment, after Christine had declared this, it was more silent and stiller than it had ever been in this house.

"I felt something," she mumbled in a hopeless tone. "I did feel something, Erik – I wanted to kiss you. I wanted to hold you and stay with you for all eternity in that very second that our lips touched."

Erik's heart nearly gave out at that very second, and he could hardly believe what he was hearing. He had never loved her more than he did now.

"Then answer my question," He finally said. "Do you love me?"

Christine's eyes were brimming with tears, and she did not know the exact reason why.

"Yes." She whispered, so inaudibly that Erik could only tell what she was saying by the movement of her lips.

But she was not finished.

And what she would say next could break Erik.

"But I love him more."

Christine waited to see his reaction. He knew – he should have known – that she loved Raoul more than him. Her choice must have shown him that. But since that dreadful night, might he have convinced himself otherwise? Erik was a genius; there was no doubt about that. But a genius such as him is commonly engulfed in his own madness, madness that can take control of the mind and twist and contort things. And geniuses usually believe their madness.

"Yes."

That was all Erik said. And then he nodded.

Christine saw a sort of mistiness in his eyes, and then a knowing look appeared.

_He did know. _

"Thank you, my dear, for answering my question." Erik said sincerely.

Christine nodded as something returned to her.

_I will give you anything you wish, so long as you answer my question._

There was something she wanted so badly. She had wanted this since the day she left the Opera House, forbidden to return. Her heart yearned for it, and her soul was slowly crumbling without it. And Erik was the only person who could give this to her.

"Erik, I want you to take me to the Opera House."

"What?"

"I want you to take me to the Opera House. You said I could have anything I wished for if I answered your question. Your question has been answered, Erik. I wish to return to the Opera House."

Erik didn't know which was more shocking – the fact that Christine actually wanted to return to the Opera House, after all that had occurred there, or the fact that she did not want to leave him – at least, not yet.

"I miss it, Erik. I miss everything about it; ballet rehearsals while dancing alongside Meg, exploring the empty corridors late at night, singing to the angel of music in my sleep…" Erik noticed that she spoke of her 'angel of music' as if he were an entirely different person than himself.

Erik's first immediate thought was _no, absolutely not. _But then he wondered… why not? Surely he could remain anonymous after doing so for so many years, and surely Christine could do so as well. What harm was there in returning to the place? Yes, there would be some pain in the memories of _that night_, but he could sacrifice that for Christine. And Erik could see the longing in her eyes, and in the way she spoke.

_Yes, _he thought.

_Yes._

"We will return," he declared.

Christine's came alive at that moment, more alive than she had been in months.

"Oh, Erik, thank you, thank you, thank you!" She exclaimed, grinning from ear to ear. "You have no idea how much this means to me! Oh, I simply cannot wait!" She subconsciously stood on her toes and hugged Erik out of pure excitement, and then withdrew quickly after realizing what she had done.

He had frozen at her touch.

She tried hiding her embarrassment, and he quickly recovered, appearing unaffected. But the thoughts within his head were entirely contradictory of his actions.

"But I do have conditions, Christine." He told her slowly, his voice steady (with much effort).

"Of course," she replied, still brimming with delight. Erik could not resist smiling a little at this point. Her animation and liveliness pleased him.

"Well we obviously must remain unidentified." Erik said. Christine nodded, expecting that much. "And that does include not visiting with any occupants of the Opera House… _including_ little Meg Giry and Madame."

"Oh, I haven't seen either of them in ages!" Christine mused. "But, I understand why, of course… they would get suspicious…" She tried not to show her disappointment.

"Exactly," Erik agreed. "And I assume you wish to view a performance. Is _Box Five_ suitable for such viewing?"

"Box Five…" Christine murmured, lost in memories – both haunting and pleasant. She remembered seeing a dark, cloaked figure, and singing for him. But she also remembered the tears that brimmed in Raoul's eyes from Box Five as she sung with her angel.

She snapped back into the present, nodding. "Yes, we should watch a performance from Box Five."

Erik nodded, though he had something else on his mind that was gnawing at him, something imperative to his final decision of going to the Opera House or not.

"Christine, would there, perhaps, be any chance that the Vicomte would be at the Opera House?" Erik asked slowly.

Christine raised an eyebrow, and then knitted the two together.

"Oh no," she replied, shaking her head promptly. "No, Raoul would never return to the Opera Populaire, not in a million years… He forbade me from returning – from singing ever agai –"

She was immediately interrupted by Erik's booming voice which was full of anger and hatred.

"He forbade you from singing?!" Erik bellowed, outraged. "That idiot! That self-centered, appalling, undeserving, stupid, egotistical idiot!"

Christine was silenced, waiting for Erik to finish and calm his temper. He breathed heavily and dug his fingers into his knuckles, which Christine knew would have bled if it weren't for his gloves.

"Erik," she began softly. "He was only trying to forget the past, and start over."

Erik nodded slowly, trying not to argue with Christine. It was not her he was angry with. But it was Raoul whose neck he wanted to grab and strangle at that second. That fop was ridiculously lucky that distance separated Erik's Punjab lasso from his neck.

"I realize that, Christine," Erik finally said, much more composed than before. "But I am your Angel of Music, and your Angel knows that you simply cannot stop singing. You were given a voice, Christine, a voice that I made what it is now. And you cannot ever forget that."

Christine just stared at Erik for a few seconds.

And then she was crying, falling into a stunned Erik's chest.

"I never wanted to stop!" She wailed. "But – but he would not let me sing, Angel! Oh, how I miss it so! Angel, let me sing with you, please! Let me sing!" Christine was in hysterics. She was a child now, and Erik was her Angel of Music.

Erik carefully lifted and dried her tears with his gloved hands.

"You will never be prohibited to sing, Christine, not ever again."

At that minute, Christine loved her Angel more than anyone else.

"But now, I have a small favor to ask of you." Erik requested, wearing a slight smile on his face. Christine couldn't help but smile as well.

"Of course, anything," She said, laughing at the sudden change in mood that Erik could always somehow generate. Her façade of him being her Angel of Music suddenly disappeared, and he was Erik once again.

"Will you accompany me on a picnic?"

_Me… accompanying Erik on a picnic. _

The thought of it nearly boggled Christine, yet she answered yes almost too quickly.

* * *

"Christine, you must learn to trust me."

She had been munching on a grape, and then paused as soon as Erik had spoken.

"What do you mean?" Christine asked timidly, averting her eyes from his, though she felt them piercing right through her.

Erik sighed, and then stood from the soft blanket that the two of them had been sitting on. He was still wearing his gloves and cape, though it was a beautiful day and signs of spring were beginning to show. He paced upon the dew-covered grass as he gathered his thoughts.

Christine and Erik were having a picnic behind the house, atop a hilly spot in the grass that showcased a marvelous view of a pond. Erik remembered swimming in the pond often as a child, although his mother had forbidden him to do so.

Christine watched small waves roll across the pond with the wind, suddenly having a longing to swim in the peaceful water. But winter was still lingering in the air, and the water would be icy cold.

"I cannot have you living in fear of me." Erik finally said, speaking opposite of her. "You must learn to trust me."

She listened to him, and tried to think that she eventually could.

_How?_ Christine all that had occurred, _trust seemed to be something as distant as the clouds above._

"Do you think you can, Christine? Trust me, that is?" Erik only wanted to see if there was a possibility in her mind. He knew that there was, but she had to believe it to make it possible.

The harmlessness in his voice allowed Christine to answer him truthfully, one of the few times she felt safe talking openly to him.

"Erik, it seems impossible to trust someone who can be gentle and kind to me one minute, and then be the complete opposite the next. I never know how you will react to something I say, or if I will anger you by doing something. I don't think that living this way is appropriate either."

Christine gazed at the clear sky above her, trying to imagine living in such harmony and content. It seemed as though the first few years of her life were the only lived in pure bliss, with her father and her music, and nothing else. Not even with Raoul had she been truly happy.

"What if I told you that I would try and control my temper? Then would I be able to gain your trust?"

_If… if such a thing were possible – Erik controlling his temper – then…_

"_If _you did learn to do that, then I suppose so," Christine answered truthfully. She knew that the probability of this was unlikely, but she decided to give Erik a chance. After all, sometimes a chance was all somebody really needed.

_And perhaps the clouds really weren't that far away._

Both ate the small meal that Erik had prepared in silence. Two sets of eyes stared at something faraway, and their thoughts danced in the distance.

_Angel of Music,  
I denied you!  
Turning from true beauty!  
Angel of Music!  
My protector!  
Come to me strange Angel…_

Had she really wanted her Angel at that time? Had she surrendered, once and for all?

Christine wondered endlessly of this cold time at the cemetery. If Raoul had not come for her, would she have ended up as broken as she was now?

"Erik, I wish to sing with you."

He snapped out of the distant world he was in, focusing his attention only on Christine.

"Now?"

"Now."

Erik nodded. "Very well, Christine, if it is your wish."

And their voices intertwined together, carried off by the wind to somewhere unknown.


	9. Chapter IX

**_Stolen_**

**Chapter IX: Retour  
**_translation: Return_

A/N: **Here is the last chapter of 2009, readers! Sorry for the delay, and enjoy! No, I do not own Phantom!**

**

* * *

**

They left promptly the next morning, much to Christine's delight.

Erik had a carriage which he planned on driving himself to Paris. He would have much rather taken a single horse with Christine sitting behind him, but he knew that she would not accept this way of transportation.

So, the two set off by carriage, and a sense of déjà vu hit Christine. A blurry memory of riding in a carriage driven by a cloaked man returned to Christine… that fateful morning in which she had visited her father's grave.

Christine shook off this memory, staring happily ahead of her at the empty road.

She didn't know exactly why she was so excited to see her old home. Perhaps it was just that she had many fond memories of the place, or because of its familiarity. She knew that there weren't any performances running yet, and that she would not be able to see her own friends.

But what she longed for now was to sit in her dressing room in front of the vanity she had used, and to be taken back to her nights of performing as a dancer and singer in the Opera Populaire.

* * *

The darkness caused Christine to sway slightly in Erik's binding grasp.

"Christine?" He asked, his voice full of concern.

"Can we leave this passage, please?" She begged, "I would like to see my old dressing room, not the eerie passages to your previous home. This darkness is overwhelming. I can't believe you actually _lived_ here."

Erik chuckled, "Yes, I did live here. And I found a comfort in the darkness, actually."

Christine didn't respond for a moment, contemplating Erik's previous words. She knew exactly why Erik found comfort in this consuming night, and it pained her to think of it.

"Please," She finally broke the silence, "I can't take this."

Erik continued down the passage, instead of turning around, "No. We will continue to my house on the lake."

"Erik," Christine groaned.

He did not slow, but continued walking.

"Fine," Christine spat, "I'll go myself. And don't worry about me running away, Erik. Because we both know that you will find me. I just need to get out of this darkness."

"I wouldn't do that, Christine," Erik warned. He knew that Christine was too stubborn to stay with him, but he would never even think of separating with her now. All he could do was lie, and lie he would…

"You never know what you'll find in this opera house. All I can say is that as a Phantom, I soon found that I was not alone in these catacombs."

Erik almost felt the terror radiating off of her. Despite this, she released herself from his grasp and began walking opposite of Erik.

Just as Erik was about to claim his angel back, a rope was thrust into his mouth, preventing him from speaking. He didn't bother trying to release himself from the pair of hands tying his own hands together. Realization that someone was actually trying to capture The Opera Ghost hit Erik.

He almost laughed out loud.

He let his captor take him to wherever the place of interest may be, not giving a protest. Erik decided that may as well lead the man to think he had a chance of living. But Erik knew that the second he was given the opportunity, he would kill the fool who even tried bantering with him.

Erik found himself in a scarcely visited room, one that required the taking of many secret passages. It surprised him that whoever was trying to capture him actually found this specific room.

A few candles were alight, and two men stood guarding the entrance to the room, their faces stiff and serious. The other man who had led Erik to the room was now standing in front of him, releasing the rope from his mouth. He had a mischievous gleam in his eye that annoyed Erik. _Who was this man, and what business did he want with him?_

"The reign of the Phantom of The Opera over this opera house ended many months ago," The man began, pacing to one side of the room. Erik began working at the knot that surrounded his hands silently, almost smiling at how easy this would be.

"And yet… you have finally returned." A sly smile crept upon the man's lips as he turned to face Erik. "What do you have to say of _this_, my friend?"

"I say that I held power over this Opera House once, and I can regain that control again if I choose it," Erik spat venomously.

The man shook his head slowly, almost laughingly.

"Ah, but you cannot. You see, _Monsieur Opera Ghost_, there has been a… reward, I suppose you could say, floating around Paris for your capture."

Of course Erik knew this; he was not ignorant as the man thought he was.

"And how do you plan on doing _that_?" Erik scoffed, his hands already free from the knot. Now the rope was not an obstacle against him, but a weapon.

"Well you see, the reward did not specify whether they wanted your body dead or alive…" The man continued his pacing, and then reached into his pocket. He then pulled out a pistol and pointed it directly at Erik.

"… which is why I plan on killing you."

* * *

Christine breathed a sigh of relief once she saw the familiar sight of her dressing room door.

She rushed through the door and couldn't help the smile that appeared on her face.

_So many memories… _

In a sort of daze, Christine sat down in front of her vanity. She carefully removed the sheets that covered it, and then blew the dust away. Her eyes wondered the room, until at last they lingered on the floor length mirror in the corner of the room.

A haunting voice echoed through Christine's memories. Her angel had sang to her a countless amount of times, each note sending chills down her spine and touching her very soul.

Christine closed her eyes and tried returning to the night before her first lead role in Hannibal. She had been so nervous that night, and had burst into tears an hour before the show began, sobbing that she "couldn't do this". If it weren't for the Angel of Music's soothing words, she would not have been able to give the performance she had given.

Before long, Christine began to notice that Erik still had not yet joined her. In a thoughtless act, she slid the mirror that she had once descended into open, and began her search for Erik. Her decision was made – if he didn't bother looking for her then she must take matters into her own hands.

Darkness quickly overtook the light, which also replaced Christine's determination with fear.

"Erik..?" Christine whispered nervously, searching helplessly through the darkness.

"Erik, where did you go?" She tried once again, fear evident in her voice. A terror filled her mind at the moment she realized she really was alone.

Christine squinted, trying to make out any shapes. Her pale skin was the only contrast against the dark that she could plainly see.

Christine stumbled across the brick floors, feeling her way across the wall, searching for anything that meant an escape from the darkness. She felt blind and utterly helpless as she tripped a countless number of times. _Where was he? _Erik would never leave her so unexpectedly - or at all, for that matter. Could... could something have happened to him?

No, no, of course not. Erik was The Phantom of the Opera for goodness sake! Nothing would ever...

Suddenly, Christine felt something slightly different on the wall - a brick out of place.

And then she was flying.

She was in a different room. The air felt much colder and heavier, sending shivers up Christine's spine. It must have been a secret passage of some kind... a secret passage, or a_ trap_.

Christine froze.

She had heard somebody move.

"Erik?" She practically begged, praying to God that it was only him. _Please let it be Erik, just Erik, oh God, let it be Erik..._

But the voice that answered her was not his.

"It's nice of you to join me, Miss Daae."

It was pitch black, but by the sound of the produced voice, whoever had spoken was very, very close to Christine.

A candle was suddenly lit, and the first thing Christine saw was a smirking face just inches away from hers.

His grimy teeth were bared, jagged and crooked in their lining. Sweat was caked upon his forehead, and dirt filled the creases in his face. Christine could smell the faint sent of cigar and alcohol as he inhaled and exhaled. But none of these features are what stood out most to her. It out was the odd way that his eyes were colored, a swirling mixture of gray and black. The colors touched, yet did not combine, in a sort of hypnotizing way.

"What do you want from me?" Christine finally demanded, trying to sound brave and fearless, when in reality her voice quavered unevenly.

The man let out a raspy chortle, releasing saliva onto a disgusted Christine's face.

"That is such a broad question," He breathed. "Perhaps the question is; what don't I want from you?"

Christine tried not to let the panic show in her eyes, and focused her vision only on the flickering candle that the man was holding.

She suddenly heard a bunch of ruckus coming from somewhere below her, banging of some sort and screams that she could hardly make out. She looked up in alarm to see that the smile on her captor's face had only grown.

"What's going on down there?" She asked timidly. She then remembered leaving a certain someone alone in the darkness, and her previous fears returned to her.

"Where is he?" She whispered. "What have you done with him?"

The man chuckled once more, and the candle danced along to his foul smelling breath.

"Oh, do not worry about your masked friend. I have some friends of my own that are taking care of him."

It took all of Christine's power not to scream for help or try and run, as she desperately tried to stop the tears from clouding her vision. The orange flame began to become blurrier as she surrendered to the threatening tears.

"Don't cry, dear." The man whispered. "It will all end quickly."

Christine was in sobs now, no longer trying to hold anything in.

_I am going to die. Erik is going to die. I am going to die…_

The only thing she wished now was that the man would kill her quickly, without anything else to do with her beforehand.

"Christine?"

A familiar voice emerged from behind her.

Shocked, Christine's own voice only came out in a whisper.

"_Raoul?"_

"Who are _you_?" The grimy and now confused man inquired importunately. Christine ignored him, still stunned by the fact that Raoul was standing behind her.

"Christine, was this man trying to hurt you?" Raoul demanded, his voice rising in anger as accusations ran through his mind. "What did he do to you?!"

"He didn't do anything, Raoul, not yet at least," Christine answered quickly. Raoul instantly detected the fear that was evident in her voice, and he reached down for her hand, careful to hide it from the strange man that gave off a dangerous vibe.

Christine squeezed Raoul's hand with all she had, the warmth giving her the slightest feeling of safety.

The crooked-toothed man eyed the two of their faces, and then his familiar grin appeared.

"I can see that you, Monsieur," he looked venomously at Raoul, "Are going to be a problem."

As soon as Raoul spotted the gun that the man was removing from his pocket, he began turning Christine around and shoving her out the door that he had luckily left open.

"Go." He commanded, pushing her. "Stay out there, Christine. Do not come in."

After day's worth of searching, he had found her.

And he was not going to lose her to a man with a gun.

Christine did not protest, obeying Raoul's words as quickly as she could. She had never heard his voice so authoritative and solid, and even though she wanted to do anything but leave him, she knew she had to.

She tried to cover her ears once she started hearing the sounds of yelling and pain in the room next to her, but it was no use. Tears flowed down her cheeks and she tried to cover the terrifying noises from beside her with a helpless, hysteric humming that was mingled with sobs.

At last, she heard a gunshot.

Christine could not stop the black that began to seep in front of her eyes, finally losing the fight against unconsciousness.

* * *

A/N: **And, dear readers, I must leave it off there. I am sorry for the cliffhanger and the delay for this chapter. Hopefully the next one will be up soon! Thanks for reading, and please remember to review! ^_^**


	10. Chapter X

_**Stolen**_

**Chapter 10: ****Accueil  
**_translation: Home_

A/N: **Ok, to clear up any confusion, I deleted the author's note chapter because it's pretty useless now. But… this chapter now becomes chapter ten, which was what the last chapter was since I did have the author's note then. So those who reviewed the last chapter cannot review this chapter… So if that is your issue and you want to review, please review for this chapter on Chapter Nine, since only about 2 people reviewed the author's note (which used to be chapter nine). If you simply cannot review at all for this chapter that you are about to read because you've already reviewed every single chapter and you want to (please do), send me a PM with your review. Thanks, and I know all that is confusing, but sorry, just stick with me! Also, my sis reviewed an example review if anyone is utterly lost. Hehe.**

**Loathing! Unadulterated loathing! Wow, y'all just experienced a moment of pure randomness by yours truly. I'm listening to the Wicked soundtrack. Anyone seen Wicked? **

**Whew. Anyways… Now that that's out of the way, enjoy this chapter! It was a nice, quick update, if I do say so myself. (: **

**OH! And I don't own Phantom!**

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_Previously: _

_At last, she heard a gunshot._

_Christine could not stop the black that began to seep in front of her eyes, finally losing the fight against unconsciousness._

* * *

"Christine? Christine? Christine…?"

She heard her name being whispered over and over again, but did not open her eyes. She could not tell if she was dreaming or not, for the voice seemed to be so close, as if it were somehow inside of her mind.

The first thing that she noticed was a throbbing pain on the back of her head, and her hand immediately flew to touch the source of the pain. Her pale fingers grazed over a huge bump that had somehow planted itself on the back of her head.

"Ouch…" She heard herself mumble softly.

"Yes, ouch," came a chuckling reply. "That is what happens when you faint onto a stone floor."

Christine's eyes fluttered open to see a hazy imagine that matched the voice that had been speaking to her. He had said she'd fainted onto a stone floor… Christine tried to remember why, tried to concentrate. At once, the most recent of the morning's events suddenly returned to her.

"Raoul, you're alright!" She exclaimed, her voice now clear and sure. He laughed as Christine returned to her senses and observed her surroundings.

"My old dressing room?" She inquired, recognizing the lovely couch she was presently laying on, and spotting the vanity across the room.

"Yes, it was the first place I could think to take you after finding you passed out on the floor." Raoul explained in a teasing manner.

"So… does that mean… is he dead?" Christine asked in a hushed tone. The haunting image of her captor's face returned to her, sending shivers up her spine. "I heard the shot."

Raoul nodded seriously, and began giving Christine an explanation of exactly what had occurred.

"Well, the lunatic turned out to not have very good aim, fortunately. I ducked and he missed. I eventually got my hands on the pistol and finished him off," Raoul said gravely. He certainly did not like the idea of killing another man, but in the circumstances he and (more importantly) Christine had been under, death had been the only solution.

"Oh, Raoul, I cannot thank you enough. He would have killed me!" Christine did not say out loud the other horrific things he may have done before ending her life…

She rose from the couch to sincerely thank Raoul with a kiss, yet the moment she tried standing, she faltered. A dizzy spell hit her and her head was once again throbbing. Raoul immediately steadied Christine before she could fall, and carefully sat her back onto the couch. Christine placed her head in her hands, and allowed her cold fingers to run over her temples.

"I'm sorry, Raoul, it's my head," She muttered painfully, her voice echoing in her ears.

"Do not apologize, Christine." Raoul replied. "It's not at all your fault."

"I was the one who wanted to return to the Opera House," Christine murmured. She tried to remember why she had even wanted to return in the first place, but her thoughts simply couldn't make sense into things at the moment.

"Christine, I think it would be best if I took you home to the estate where you could properly rest." Raoul suggested, already helping her up. Christine nodded weakly, not really caring what happened at this point.

Raoul wrapped one arm around Christine's waist, supporting her as best as he could. She began to take a few steps, biting her tongue so she wouldn't yelp from the pain in her head.

"Will you be able to make it this way to the carriage? If I remember correctly, it is parked quite close to the entrance."

Christine nodded and managed a small smile, continuing forward.

Her steps became increasingly difficult as her surroundings became a blur. Raoul wondered why she was limping, something that Christine didn't even notice now, having grown used to it.

Christine didn't have the heart to tell Raoul that his support really was not helping much at all, and only prayed that the carriage would be in sight soon.

A gust of cold air felt marvelous rushing through Christine's hair, and she almost smiled at the fact that she would be able to sit and relax in just seconds. Before long, Raoul was assisting Christine; helping her into the carriage. She was surprised to see another person already sitting beside her.

"Oh, Mademoiselle Daae has been found, how wonderful!" She exclaimed excitedly. Christine recognized her as Madeline, one of the maids, and the wondered why she had come with Raoul to the Opera House. Another question of why Rauol decided to come here lingered in her mind, but she did not say anything.

"Monsieur de Chagny, allow me to drive the carriage home." Madeline insisted while making her way to the front.

"Merci, Madeline," Raoul said with sincere gratitude as he sat beside Christine.

The motion of the road beneath them soothed Christine. She let her eyes close, knowing that the city passing by would only cause her to be dizzy. Eventually she felt her head rest on Raoul's shoulder. She simply listened to the trotting of the two horses in front of them while drifting in and out of sleep.

And yet, when all seemed peaceful, one name suddenly returned to Christine's mind.

"Erik," she breathed.

"Erik!" This time, her voice rose in panic and Raoul snapped out of his serene state.

He did not need to ask who Erik was; he knew. Erik was Christine's angel that she always had nightmares about, causing screams and tears in the middle of the night. Erik was the mysterious Phantom who had kidnapped Christine not long ago. By why, Raoul questioned, was she suddenly so panicky about him?

"What is it, Christine?" Raoul asked concernedly, spotting the sheer panic and fear in her eyes.

"Raoul, I have to go back, we must go back! He could be hurt! There are more of those men there, I'm sure of it! They have probably found him by now, and even though Erik could… well _kill_ them, there are still chances! I cannot leave him, despite what has happened. Raoul, take me-"

"No, Christine," his voice softly interrupted. "No. You will return home and rest today, and be placed under Madeline's care. _I _will return to the Opera House this evening to tie some loose ends and find out exactly what happened this morning. I will try and collect any news about your Erik, and will even look for him if that is what pleases you. When I return home tonight, and if you still wish to leave, then I'm afraid that I must allow you to do so." Raoul had practically forced those last few words out of his mouth. The one thing that he feared most was losing Christine once again.

Christine was hardly satisfied with this, but she knew that it would be the only way in her situation. She could barely walk as it was, and she'd probably only injure herself more if she did not just rest.

Christine was silent the rest of the ride home, but her thoughts were screaming for Erik. If anything had happened to him, she didn't know how she would cope.

* * *

"_Christine, we must prepare for the wedding," Raoul insisted. "I wish to marry you at once! We have been putting this off for far too long, and I want nothing more than to marry you!"_

_Christine did not reply. _

"_Christine, you cannot just ignore me!" Raoul cried, his hands rising in exasperation._

_She turned to face Raoul._

"_Let's postpone the wedding, then." She said softly. _

_The look of confusion and hurt on Raoul's face broke Christine's heart, but she couldn't let this go on any longer. _

"_Raoul, I can't…" She swallowed with much difficulty, and forced the words out of her mouth. "I can't marry you. Not now. Not in this… this situation."_

"_You wish to postpone the wedding… indefinitely." Raoul whispered knowingly._

"_No, not indefinitely!" Christine insisted. "I just need… time."_

* * *

_Time…_

Christine found herself awake, trying to comprehend what she had just dreamt.

She didn't want to postpone the wedding…

She wanted to marry Raoul as soon as possible…

Didn't she?

"Oh, I see you've awaken," Madeline's pleasant voice announced. She stood at the doorway of the room, now dressed in the usual maid's attire. "Would you like something to eat? It's past lunchtime, and actually nearing dinnertime… How about some soup, or a sandwich, perhaps?"

Christine smiled and politely declined. Madeline shrugged and told her to give her a shout if she needed anything.

Christine's head felt much better, but there was still a dull aching near the back. She didn't remember anything from after she had fallen asleep in the carriage, so she assumed that Raoul had carried her into her room and left soon afterwards.

After deciding that she was no longer tired, Christine sat up on her bed and braced herself for dizziness. Thankfully, only a short sense of lightheadedness came, and then she felt fine. Christine stood slowly, and then noticed an awkward feeling in her ankle. It seemed that somebody had wrapped it…

"Madeline, did you tend to my ankle?" Christine called softly, hearing Madeline busy at work in a room close by.

"No, Monsieur de Chagny wrapped it himself. He noticed you limping," was her reply.

"Oh."

Christine had almost forgotten the incident that had occurred only nights ago, when she had foolishly tripped in the mud. Of course, Erik had tended to her injury and continued giving her medicine for the pain. Limping had become natural, now.

His half-masked face came to her mind, and the fret that Christine had experienced earlier returned.

_He'll be fine… He is Erik, for crying out loud! When have you known Erik to ever be in a near-death situation that wasn't to his advantage?_

Christine tried repeatedly to convince herself of these things, but something that may have been in the pit of her stomach, the back of her mind or the center of heart was telling her otherwise. Something was telling her that the men hadn't come for her… they had come for him.

* * *

Meg Giry twirled into her mother's bedchamber lightheartedly, and then noticed an immediate gloom throughout the room.

"Mother, what is wrong?" She asked in her always innocent tone of voice. Madame Giry shook her head and wiped a few stray tears from her eyes.

"Not now, Meg." She whispered. "I must go; there is someone who wishes to speak to me."

And before Meg could ask, her mother departed from the room and left her sitting on the bed with a troubled mind that was full of questions.

* * *

**A/N: Sorry for the randomness of the Meg part… It's the only way I could think to bring that up… Meg always was a curious little one, eh?... No... (awkward silence.)... Ahem...  
Well, I know there was a major cliffhanger at the end of the last chapter, so I tried not to leave it off as cliffy as that one. Yes, this chapter wasn't as long and eventful as previous ones, but the update was quick and I knew you guys were dying (exaggeration) to find out what happened.**

**Anyways, read the big paragraph at the top of the chapter if you haven't already. You will then know everything you will ever need to know. Not really. Just read it. Review? (bats eyelashes) (:**


	11. Chapter XI

_**Stolen**_

**Chapter 11: Love Me, That's All I Ask of You.**

_A/N: _**Yeah, I'm tired of doing French titles. Deal with it.  
Anyways, sorry this chapter took so long. Homework. That's all I have to say.  
I like the way this turned out, and I really hope y'all do too. We shall have to see.. (:**

**Disclaimer: Phantom belongs to ALW, Gaston Leroux, Susan Kay, and Me. Wait, no, not me, because that would defeat the purpose of a disclaimer, now wouldn't it?**

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"How is she?" Raoul asked in a strained, tired voice. He wore bags under his eyes and was completely exhausted. The long day was now taking it's beating on him, and he wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed and sleep.

"She seems to be feeling quite fine, besides being very tired. I assume she didn't get much sleep over the last couple of days…" Madeline answered softly. She too was worn out after a hectic and tiring day.

Raoul nodded, wondering what exactly happened to Christine the nights she was missing. After all, she had been walking with a mysterious limp, and had seemed distant the entire carriage ride home.

"She was calling out for… for _him_ in her sleep. She kept on calling 'Angel' and 'Erik'." Madeline informed Raoul. He was not surprised to hear this.

"Well, thank you for helping me with… everything, Madeline. You are truly a kind woman." Madeline blushed, and then quickly dashed up the stairs to join the other maids.

Raoul sighed deeply, contemplating whether he should wake Christine and tell her the news, or just wait until tomorrow.

He quietly tip-toed into the dark room and saw her lying motionless on the bed. She looked so peaceful and yet exhausted, and Raoul simply couldn't disturb her.

_Tomorrow_, he told himself. _It will have to wait until tomorrow._

* * *

"Angel, angel, are you alright?" Christine mumbled in her sleep, yet again.

She had been tossing and turning all night, waking Raoul multiple times. He had tried to soothe her, but with no avail. Christine simply would not let her angel slip from her mind – whether she was conscious or unconscious.

By the time she sat down to eat breakfast with Raoul, she was fiddling with her fingers anxiously and biting her lip incessantly.

"Good morning, love," Raoul greeted her pleasantly, trying to forget the numerous amounts of times she had called for her angel, and not him.

Christine nodded and then looked Raoul square in the eye with a desperate, pleading stare.

"Raoul, I'm worried about him… about Erik. Did you… did you find out," she started tentatively. She was almost afraid to hear an answer, dreading the worst. But she had to know. She had to.

Raoul stopped her, and then said something so shocking that Christine almost imagined she was dreaming. He spoke so quickly and so quietly that she nearly missed what he had said.

"Christine, he's dead."

She froze.

She was stuck in a dream – no, a nightmare. It was a nightmare that she couldn't escape the second she heard Raoul's words.

No tears came. No words spluttered out of her mouth. No sudden emotions flickered across her eyes.

"I'm sorry," Raoul whispered.

Christine still hadn't let out a breath.

"I have to go."

That was all she said before she disappeared out the door.

And Raoul let her.

She took a horse – the first one that she saw in the stable, a stallion called King Capriccio.

She rode onto an overused path. She knew the way.

It wasn't even raining. No, it was ironically a beautiful day, with cool temperatures and a light breeze that blew Christine's chestnut curls behind her.

She rode through trees, so many trees, a green wall passing like a blur. Birds made music all around, tunes that symbolized the coming of spring. But the music hurt Christine's ears – everything did. The sound of her heartbeat was almost as loud as the sound of the thumping of hooves beneath her.

Christine didn't feel any tears fall, but they did. The moment they left her eyes they were swept away with the wind. She wasn't even making any sounds, yet the tears still clouded her eyes. What hurt now was her heart, and an aching pain had began to consume her.

She rode on.

_He's dead. He's dead. He's dead._

_Erik is dead._

They words simply didn't make sense when she thought them. She heard Raoul's voice saying them, yet the order they had been placed in didn't add up in her head. Christine even tried saying it out loud.

"Erik is dead."

But she couldn't believe herself.

The green that flew beside her turned into orange. The orange turned to red. The red was fire.

She didn't know where she was going; she was just being swallowed by the fire.

And then she stopped.

Had she told her horse to stop? Christine didn't know. But she was here. The Opera House stood in front of her in all its glory, with the same magnificence that it had always had. For some reason, she had expected it to look different, somehow. But here it was.

Here she was.

Christine felt herself tying King Capriccio up, and then she was running towards the doors.

She tripped up one step, up another, and another.

And finally, she was inside.

It was warmer inside, and she hadn't realized that she was wearing thin, short sleeves until now. Her arms were covered in goose bumps, and she rubbed them vigorously. Her hair must have looked like a rat's nest, a wreck. _She _must have looked like a wreck.

But none of that even help the slightest bit of importance.

She was running.

She brushed by workers putting last minute touches on the nearly fully-repaired building, her eyes straight ahead. Christine muttered apologizes as she brushed by people, who followed her with suspicious stares. A few even recognized her, but she didn't notice – she didn't care.

Her dressing room – she was in her dressing room.

It hurt even more, now; her heart.

She almost felt him with her. She could almost smell his familiar yet foreign scent. She could almost hear him; his haunting, beautiful, indescribable voice.

_Almost._

The mirror was already open. It swallowed Christine as she submerged into the darkness. But the darkness didn't swallow her, this once.

She was sprinting as if death were on her heels. Her heart ached and burned like no other pain she had felt before. She took long, desperate breaths and struggled to get oxygen into her lungs. But none of this slowed Christine.

Everything around her was a blur, a dizzy, confusing blur.

Where was she?

Christine began to panic. She fought to breathe and felt her feet moving down a set of stairs, and then another. Would the stairs ever end? She could not tell what was in front of her, or behind her.

Suddenly, she collapsed.

She was on her knees.

It was there, in front of her… _the lake._

There was no oar, and no boat, and no way to get across. Christine didn't consider swimming.

That was when the tears started pouring. They came spilling out of her eyes like a rainstorm, a relentless rainstorm. Sounds that resembled sobbing came from the pain in her heart, erupting from her mouth. She couldn't get a hold of herself.

_Erik is dead._

Now, she believed it.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered between the uncontrollable sobs.

"You were my angel… my angel of music."

"I used to, I used to…" She stopped, trying to control what she was saying, or yelling, to be precise. She shut her eyes and squeezed them shut as hard as she could, so hard that it hurt. Christine held her breath for 30 seconds, she counted each one. Slowly, she exhaled. She could breathe again.

"I used to sing to you every night," she began, this time in control of each word that came out of her mouth.

"You were the closest thing I had to my Father, and I came to you for comfort, knowing and believing it was him who sent you… as an angel."

"I truly did believe you were an angel, Erik. Angels have many wonderful, beautiful powers. But only the Angel of Music has a voice so inhuman and pure. I knew that you had to have be an Angel of Music, my Angel of Music… It was until that night that I truly believed that."

"You took me down… down to your home, where I kneel now." Christine gazed at the lake ahead of her.

"You have such a beautiful home. But it's so… so cold down here. It's too cold. Nobody should have to live underground, not even you."

"I think it was that night, the night when I learned you weren't an angel, that you were… a man… It was that night that I felt something other than guidance and beauty of music from you. I'm not sure if it was love… no, it wasn't love… not quite." Christine let her hand fall in the water as she traced patterns in it. She closed her eyes gently, so gently that a few tears slowly ran from her eyelashes and plopped onto the floor beneath her.

"You're face never did scare me. It was your temper, your voice. It was the way you cursed me and yelled at me… the way you threw me… The way your eyes burned with fury." Christine's voice trembled at the lingering memory.

She then thought of Raoul, and how quickly she had run away from him earlier.

"I'm not sure if I can say that I love Raoul," Christine whispered so quietly, she didn't even hear herself.

"There was the pathetic puppy love when we were children, young and free. There was the light that shone from him… and you were the darkness. I was afraid of the darkness. And I convinced myself that I loved the light."

Christine didn't speak for a very long time. The only sound she heard was her slow breathing, and the faded hum of her heartbeat.

Silence echoed in her mind, and then she suddenly whispered something that she could hardly even believe she was saying.

"But I didn't love him. I never did."

A discovery so potent was occurring in Christine at this very moment. Something so overwhelming was taking place within her, something she couldn't even comprehend. But it wasn't a change. It had been there all along.

"I love you."

And then the pain in her heart was gone. It had vanished.

"Oh, Erik, I have always loved you more!" She realized, tears beginning to pour down her cheeks.

"I have been lying to myself, all of this time! What a liar I am! What a coward! I lied to you! I told you… I told you…"

"I told you that I love him more…

And I had lied."

_But it's too late now_, Christine realized. _He's gone. _

"I let you go… I let you go and now there is nothing I can do to fix it… I can't change anything. I had my chance to, and I failed… I failed to tell the truth, to myself, to you, to Raoul – to everyone!"

_He's dead._

_He's gone._

Killed by another man, just like that…

_She had let him die without telling him._

Christine sat with her head in her hands and her heart on her sleeve as she cried. She cried with sorrow, with regret, with pain and with love.

She didn't hear someone approaching.

She did see a figure standing closely behind her.

But she heard his voice, as clear as daylight.

"Perhaps I should die more often."

_This is a trick,_ she told herself. _My ears are deceiving me._

_Was he an angel? Was he an illusion? Was Christine hearing things?_

Her head slowly and surreally lifted from her hands, and she turned around to the source of the voice. She expected to see nothing, to have imagined hearing his voice.

"Erik," she breathed.

"No, it cannot be," she countered herself. "I am imagining you! Leave me to my misery!" She demanded.

Erik smiled. _My silly, beautiful Christine._

"Christine, I am real. I am not dead, and you are not imagining me."

"P-prove it," she whispered wide-eyed. But she already knew. She already believed him.

Erik laughed, and then Christine couldn't help but smile in spite of herself. Her tears of sorrow and pain were transformed into tears of utter joy and shock – and of love. Her tears mangled with her own laughter, and she would have appeared mad to anyone… that is, to anyone but Erik.

He helped her stand and once her feet were firmly planted on the ground, she fell into his arms. But she didn't fall from dizziness or a head rush. She fell because she wanted to. She was in the arms of her angel.

Erik was surprised at first by her sudden contact. But then, he felt her love surge through him, and for that second, he believed that she really, truly did love him more than Raoul. Yes, he had heard her say it, but he knew that she was just saying all of those things because she believed him to be dead.

Erik let himself believe this as Christine embraced him and cried into his chest. He slowly stroked her hair and let himself live in the moment for once, to take in all that was happening.

Christine's cries faded eventually, but she did not let go of Erik.

"I'm sorry," she said repeatedly. "I'm sorry. I just need you to hold me. Just to hold me…"

"Don't apologize, Christine. You have nothing to be sorry for." Erik whispered in her ear. He never wanted to let go of her.

"Do not tell me that, Erik!"

He raised an eyebrow at her voice that almost held a sort of anger in it. But it wasn't anger towards him, it was anger towards herself.

Christine lifted her head from Erik's soft chest, looking him straight in his amber eyes.

"I lied to you. I lied to myself. I told you that I loved Raoul more than you… it was a lie."

Erik was silent for a while, thoughts crowding his mind. He stared at the glassy lake, not looking Christine in the eye.

And then when he did look at her eyes, he believed her.

"You are telling the truth," He breathed.

"Yes," she agreed insistently. "I am." Her lips curved into a smile and Erik was too stunned to reply.

_She loved him. She really, truly, whole-heartedly loved him. _

"_Perhaps__ I can show you that darkness is not your only future." _Christine said softly.

And at this, Erik had to smile.

"Come, Christine," he said suddenly, walking towards the stone wall. He his searched the wall for a couple of seconds, until he put a bit of pressure on a rough brick. A door a couple feet away slowly fell open, revealing the boat in which Christine had traveled in with Erik long ago.

"I believe there is a guest waiting for me on the other side of the lake."

Christine silently climbed into the boat, Erik in front of her. He used the paddle to push off the shore, and they drifted downstream.

The smile from Christine's face still had not faded, and tears still skidded down her cheeks.

Erik was so shocked and ecstatic that he could hardly contain his sheer joy. He couldn't remember a single time he had felt this before – an emotion he couldn't quite put his finger on.

As he looked down upon his angel's bright eyes and smiling face, he then recognized what he was feeling at the moment, and knew she was feeling it too.

_Bliss._

He almost laughed out loud at the absurdity of the situation. He, the Phantom of the Opera, the Angel of Death was actually happy for once in his lifetime! Erik would've never believed it to be possible. So strange this feeling was, so new and sudden.

He didn't realize it, but tears had begun to collect in the corners of his eyes.

Only once in Erik's life had he shed tears of joy; when his angel had kissed him in all of his flesh, unmasked and pitifully weak. But that had all ended in flames, literally.

Erik told himself as he paddled along that he couldn't get his hopes up. What if she changed her mind? It was quite possible, considering Christine's dark past with him.

But as Erik looked down at her, and she looked back, all he saw was sincere love in her eyes; a sincere love that could only mean that Christine loved him.

And he couldn't believe that she felt otherwise.**

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**A/N: Did y'all really think I would kill Erik? Silly, silly readers. I would never do such an absurd thing.**

**Review, pretty please, with an Erik on top. (:**


	12. Chapter XII

_**Stolen**_

**Chapter 12: Olivia**

A/N: **I want to sincerely thank you all for your kind words! I can't believe how far this story has already come, and yet we aren't even halfway through! Y'all readers are truly a blessing! This particular chapter goes out to **Fleur du Feu** for her sweet, sweet review and for not only favoriting (I know that's not a word) the story, but putting it on story alert and me on author alert. You guys make me want to write more and more! **

**Without further ado, here is chapter twelve. And it's nice a long.(:**

** And no, I do not own Phantom.**

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"What's so funny?" Erik asked with a mischievous grin.

Christine shook her head, tossing her curls behind her shoulder.

"I was just thinking of the irony, that's all," she answered. "And how completely different this is than last time you took me down here… to your… what did you call it… _dungeon of your black despair?"_

Erik would have laughed, but he wasn't moving forward from that night quite as easily as Christine seemed to be. It had scarred him perhaps even more than the deformity on his face. Erik could clearly remember the desperate and sorrowful look in Christine's eyes as she'd ripped his mask off in front of the entire crowd in Don Juan. So why had she done it? Erik knew that now was certainly not that time to ask… perhaps another time…

Christine's sudden change in heart left Erik's own heart soaring. Though he had seen the honesty in her eyes, how could he be sure this miraculous transformation was permanent? She could go back to loving Raoul the moment she saw him again. That is, if she saw him again.

Of course, Erik would not keep Christine from Raoul. He couldn't.

A sudden regret filled his heart as he looked in her bright eyes.

He had kidnapped her, and ultimately led her into danger… a danger that could have resulted in her death.

No, Erik could not think thoughts like those. They simply only wounded his already torn heart.

"Christine, may I ask you something?" Erik inquired, breaking the gap of silence.

"Yes, of course," Christine replied.

Erik shifted in the tight space that was his gondola, draping his dark cloak back over his shoulders.

"If you say that your love is true… Then why did you run away from me that night?"

"Honestly?" Christine verified, looking a bit uneasy, as though she were seasick.

"Honestly." His voice was firm and braced for whatever her answer was.

"I ran away… because I was stupid." She said with all seriousness.

"You cannot mean that, Christine," Erik shook his head, almost mocking her absurdity.

"Oh, but it is true! I suppose I was just angry… I was angry of the fact that you kidnapped me, that I was weak and defenseless once again."

"And that's all?" Erik asked inquisitively, raising his unmasked eyebrow. "That's the only reason?"

Christine sighed, knowing that she would have to tell him sooner or later.

"No, that's not the only reason," she said softly. "Erik, I may have seemed fearless that night, standing up to you… well, trying to stand up to you," she corrected. "But, in _all honesty_… I ran away because I was afraid of you… The moment I awoke in your presence once again, I was frightened."

Erik nodded, accepting her answer at the moment. He then repeated the words carefully in his mind, and realized something about her word choice.

"You say you _were_ afraid of me_…_" Erik pondered out loud, continuing to stare straight ahead. He didn't realize how close they were to his home, for his mind was not concerned with this at the moment.

Christine nodded slowly, not quite sure what he was getting at. Yes, she was afraid of him…

_Was._

"Oh," Christine said. "Yes."

She knew what he wanted to know.

"_And are you still afraid of me?" _

She thought the words a second before he asked them.

Christine knew that she had to answer Erik truthfully, she owed him that much. She had lied to him so many times. She'd kissed him just too free Raoul, though in that kiss, she had felt so much more than she had intended to feel. She had revealed his distorted face to all of Paris, an unforgivable sin.

"Erik, I-"

"_Mon dieu_!"

The voice was neither that of Erik's nor Christine's.

"Madame Giry?" Christine asked, surprised. Erik nodded, gingerly helping Christine out of the boat. He had known it was Madame Giry at the end of the lake, and had been close to confronting her… that is, until he had heard Christine's cries.

"Oh, Erik, it truly is you!" Madame Giry shuffled to her feet, astonished. Her graying hair was disheveled and lines of worry and age were even more evident since Erik's last encounter with Antoinette. It was apparent that she had been crying recently.

"Good God, you gave me a fright! I thought you were dead!" Madame Giry scolded, giving Erik a stern look to cover her relief and happiness.

"That makes two of us," Christine muttered, eyeing Erik.

"Do not blame me for this misconception!" Erik said exasperatedly, removing his cape and tossing it over a chaise lounge. "Who was the bloody fool that told you both that I was dead, anyways?"

There was silence.

"Well?" Erik waited.

"It was le Vicomte…" Madame Giry murmured.

"Raoul," Christine admitted sheepishly at the same time as Madame Giry.

Erik couldn't hold in his laughter.

"Of course the fop would tell his _beloved _that I was dead!" He spluttered. "How very _rude _of him to lie! Don't you agree, Christine?"

"I'm sure it was simply a misunderstanding," she answered quietly.

"Oh, 'misunderstanding' my black soul!"

"Erik," Madame Giry had to restrain from rolling her eyes. "Please, can the Opera Ghost refrain from be so very _dramatic?"_

"Now Madame, when have you known me to be dramatic?" Erik said mockingly, a wicked glint in his eyes.

Christine observed their interaction curiously. She had known the Madame Giry had had some kind of contact with Erik in the past, but had never known her to be an acquaintance of his… almost a friend, in an odd sort of way.

But those weren't the only thoughts running through her mind at the time.

Erik was not dead, that was obvious now. But what exactly had occurred? Had any lives been lost yesterday, besides that of the man Raoul had killed?

"Tell me, Erik, what exactly did happen?" Madame Giry practically read Christine's mind.

"I will explain everything, but let us first sit down rather than stand at the edge of my lake."

So, the three of them resituated themselves in the dark, barren room. Erik lit a few candelabras, providing just enough light to illuminate his white mask. Christine and Madame Giry sat gingerly on the ottoman, the only piece of furniture that still remained in the room. Erik did not sit; he remained pacing with his back partly towards them.

"It occurred soon after Christine decided to wander off of her own," he began, his voice strong and echoing off of the empty walls. He didn't seem sarcastic or angry with Christine, so she didn't feel as though she'd done something wrong.

"Somebody grabbed me from behind… it was very dark; I could not see who it was. I decided not to fight back yet, and to lead them to believe that they actually had a chance of capturing me… or whatever they were planning to do." Erik paused, studying the facial expressions of his listeners. Both Madame Giry and Christine seemed patient and yet eager to hear more, so he continued.

"I was taken into a secret room of mine, one that required many trapdoors to reach. How the two idiots found the room is still a mystery to me… Anyways, I untied the clumsy knots that the men had fashioned in a matter of seconds as the spoke to me, such unobservant fellows they were."

"But what did they want, Erik? Why did they try and capture you?" Christine couldn't help herself from asking.

Erik continued calmly, his voice level and lucid.

"One man told me directly that he wanted me dead for a reward of money. And then, he pulled out a pistol."

Christine's breath caught in her throat as she realized how dangerously close Erik had been to death. The thought of it almost caused tears to resurface, but Christine then calmed herself down by reminding herself that Erik was now alive and well.

"But I was faster."

"I killed the first one with the rope he had used to tie my hands. The other one was much easier with the aid of the pistol."

Christine shivered at the indifference Erik spoke with. It was so different than the way Raoul had spoken of killing, with dread and absolute disgust.

"And then I was left… to wait. I searched for you, Christine, but before long I heard another shot fired…"

Christine nodded knowingly; it had been the shot Raoul had fired.

After a long pause, Erik began speaking again.

"I did see a glimpse you at one point, Christine, but I…"

Madame Giry could see the trouble Erik was having now, for she read him like an open book. She knew that this was something the two of them must sort out for themselves. Madame Giry hoped and assumed they'd work everything out, and then Christine would return to living and soon marry Raoul.

But perhaps Madame's assumptions were incorrect.

"I must go and return to my dancers. They need all of the practice they can get before the grand Re-Opening of the Opera House."

"It's opening again?"

Erik and Christine asked this at the same time. Christine asked it out of surprise and curiosity. Erik asked it bitterly and in a dark, sarcastic tone. Did the fools really believe they could keep _his _Opera House successfully running without its Opera Ghost?!

"Yes," Madame Giry replied as she rose to her feet. "I must go." Erik knew that she wanted to say more, much more, but she simply bustled up a passage that only she and Erik knew about, the only way to leave other than the underground lake.

And then, they were alone.

"What were you saying, Erik? You… saw me?"

Erik nodded slowly.

"I saw you… through the mirror in your dressing room. I let you go with him. He seemed to be doing a... good," Erik said the word like acid, thinking the exact opposite, "job taking care of you, and… Well, I suppose that I assumed you wished to be with him rather than me."

"You assumed wrong." Christine replied quickly, with an almost smile on her face.

Erik also pulled his face into a crooked grin, which only made Christine smile more.

"I believe this may be the first time I've been glad about being wrong."

Christine flat-out laughed at this. She then covered her mouth quickly after her outburst, embarrassed, but Erik chuckled at her enjoyment. She suddenly seemed so young and joyful, like a flame had been lit inside of her.

Christine sighed. But this time, it wasn't a sigh of despair or exhaustion. No, it was a happy, dreamy sigh. She let her mind wander, thinking of the future, suddenly seeing how blank its canvas really was. Christine tried to imagine herself with Erik years from now, but couldn't seem to paint the picture in her head. This caused her to frown slightly. Just as Erik was about to ask her what was wrong, she spoke up.

"So, what does this mean, then? What happens next?"

The question was so broad and held so many possibilities. Not even Erik could think of an adequate answer for Christine's query.

"Well, I suppose we should begin with something simple." Erik suggested in a rare, optimistic mood. "How does lunch sound?"

Christine smiled, and agreed to that. She hadn't realized how hungry she was. Besides a bite or two of toast this morning, she hadn't consumed anything since yesterday.

"Do you have food here?" She wondered, looking around. The place was strikingly empty, other than some candles and a few stray pieces of furniture that look as though they didn't belong.

Erik shook his head.

"No, but there is a quaint café down the street that is usually close to empty – I once visited the place with a… friend, of mine, I guess you could say."

Christine tried to hide her surprise. They were going to a café, a place that was out in the open, not hidden in solitude? The idea of Erik's masked face being seen by many people seemed very strange to Christine. But the thought of going to a café with Erik did sound lovely to her.

"That sounds…delightful," Christine said sincerely. She wanted so badly to ask Erik about his "friend", but she refused to let her curiosity get the better of her.

"Good," Erik nodded in approval. "Now, I don't know about you, but I believe I would seem conspicuous on the streets of Paris dressed in this apparel." Erik motioned to his fully black attire along with his cape. "And it would be unfortunate for someone to recognize the Opera Ghost. But luckily, I do have other options here. So, if you don't mind?" He walked towards what Christine assumed to be his bedroom, slowly opening the door. He paused, turning back to face Christine.

"Oh, and if it interests you, there are some beautiful dresses in that room." Erik nodded towards a door that Christine hadn't even noticed before, and then silently slipped into his room before she could even reply.

She approached the extravagant door and gingerly turned the knob, itching to see what was inside.

* * *

"Can I get the two of you some tea? It's the best in town!"

"Yes, please," Christine answered politely with a smile. Erik nodded, trying to seem polite, but truly wanting the perky waitress to leave them alone.

This was the first time Christine had seen Erik dressed in a suit that wasn't completely black. It was a nice and most likely expensive material that was colored a dark brown. The suit did not require a tie, and Erik didn't wear one. His hair looked efficient and smooth. The mask Erik wore wasn't the same half-faced one Christine usually saw him in. It was the same color as his skin, and almost looked like it belonged there on the right half of his face. The entire ensemble was so ordinary and yet striking on Erik that it almost drew attention away from the mask; which had been his exact goal.

Erik looked like an entirely different person. It was amazing to Christine how a simple change of clothes could make a person seem so different.

Christine had picked out a stunning blue dress, her favorite of the many that had been in that room.

She had spent quite a while in the room; _her _room.

She knew it had been hers.

It was the only room that she had seen that day in Erik's lair that didn't look empty or abandoned. Many pieces of furniture had filled the room, including the beautiful swan bed that was hazy in Christine's memory. Christine had wondered why Erik had left the room untouched…

But she had found something while looking through the dresses, something so astonishing she had gasped out loud.

_It was the ring._

And it had been tucked inside of the wedding dress.

Upon finding it, she had dropped it, and then picked it up again with trembling fingers.

She wanted to put it on her finger, but she couldn't bring herself to do so.

Christine had done the only thing she could think of – to put it on her necklace chain, and tuck it safely into her dress where no one could see. She didn't know why she felt that it was necessary to hide the ring. But the second she had experimentally placed it on her finger, it had felt so heavy, and Raoul's face had immediately come to her mind.

"You may want to drink that, before it gets cold," Erik suggested, smirking.

Christine snapped out of her thoughts and smiled, taking a sip of the warm tea.

Just as Erik was about to open his mouth and speak, somebody beat him to it.

"Why, it is you! Christine Daae!"

Christine didn't recognize whose voice it was, though it held a strange familiarity that oddly reminded Christine of her childhood. As she turned to face the source of the voice, her face suddenly became a name and a whirlwind of memories.

"Olivia?" Christine breathed with shock, not believing her eyes.

"Yes, yes, it's me! Oh, I haven't seen you since we were little girls of seven! This truly is a small world!" Olivia exclaimed, her pink face alight with merriment. She and Christine hugged, both in shock at their sudden reunion.

Olivia had traveled with Christine and her Father at one time, many, many years ago. They had been like sisters, until they were separated by the death of Christine's Father. Olivia had been an orphan all her life, and once Christine was sent to Paris, she had forgotten all about her childhood friend. Christine couldn't remember much about Olivia, except that she was curious and clever, and almost always found a way to get into trouble.

"And who is this?" Olivia asked excitedly, referring to the quiet, masked man at with an inquisitive eyebrow raised.

"Oh!" Christine exclaimed, almost having forgot the reason she was here. "This is Erik," she introduced. "My… my…" Her stuttering confused Olivia, who waited patiently for an introduction.

"I'm her… _friend_; a close friend. I once knew Christine's father, and have recently reunited with her, much like you." Erik rose from his seat, holding out his hand to shake Olivia's. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mademoiselle Olivia. Won't you join us for lunch?"

Christine stood shocked, not muttering a word. She could tell the Olivia was completely convinced that Erik was simply a friend. By the flawlessness of his lie, Christine was almost convinced herself…

"Oh, I would, but I'm actually in sort of a rush, and it would be rude to interrupt the two of you. Christine, we _must _catch up soon. I can't wait to tell you about my new life; my new job… everything is so exciting for me, now."

"That sounds wonderful. I'm very happy for you, Olivia." Christine smiled softly and kissed her friend on the cheek as a farewell. Olivia then flitted out the door wearing a determined and excited look on her face.

"Something about her gives me a suspicious feeling," Erik murmured once Christine had sat down again. Before she could ask what he meant by that, the waitress approached the table and set down a platter of sandwiches that Christine didn't even remember ordering.

Christine ate in silence while Erik picked at his food, observing her.

Christine couldn't figure out why she had faked her excitement with Olivia, and why the whole confrontation had felt so off…

And then she realized why.

_Something about Olivia gave her a suspicious feeling as well._

* * *

A/N: **A new character? Why, yes, meet Olivia, everyone! I have plans for her… And let's just say, there's more to a sweet-looking girl that meets the eye.**

**Tell me what you thought of this chapter in a review, please! If you have any suggestions, feel free to lay 'em on me! Thanks for reading!**


	13. Chapter XIII

_**Stolen**_

**Chapter 13: An Assignment**

A/N: **Here it is - the chapter you've all been waiting for. I'm sorry the updates aren't very fast, but I'm sure you guys understand how time crunching and crazy life can be. (:  
So it's not incredibly long, but not incredibly short. Sort of a filler. Sorry y'all waited so long for this one, but you guys will love the next. (: **

**I want to thank phantomphan2000 for "beta-ing" this chapter for me! You're awesome!  
I hope everyone enjoys it! This starts five days after the last chapter ended, as you will soon read.**

**Disclaimer: Phantom of the Opera is not mine, sadly.**

* * *

_Five days later…_

Olivia tucked her wispy hair behind her ear as she bustled down the streets of Paris.

She wore a permanent smile, holding her papers and journals close to her chest. Her eyes beamed with anticipation as she nearly sprinted to the mid-sized office building that lie ahead of her. She was so excited for one reason and one reason only – today she would be receiving her first assignment.

Now, Olivia had recently accepted a very interesting job offer… And it was right up her alley. The occupation didn't have a specific title. It called for someone that was cunning and willing to do anything for their job, in any circumstance. The job would resemble both detective work and private investigation, in a way, yet it called for many different things. Olivia would be given a case, and would do anything and everything in her power to solve the case. _Anything _in her power… This could possibly include dark deeds that few would be happy doing.

Some considered those with the same job Olivia had as cruel people that were far too clever. But Olivia simply saw it as doing what had to be done in tough situations. Besides, she did have a knack for solving problems, no matter what the consequences were. And she was determined to make her first assignment a successful one.

She took a deep breath as she approached the large, wooden door. _This is it_, she told herself. She pushed open the heavy door with an open, light heart.

"Can I help you?"

A monotone voice came from behind the desk, though the person it belonged to didn't look up. Olivia smiled politely and was informed that she needed to see Monsieur Fevre. The receptionist gave her a room number and directions, and then, Olivia was off.

_Room 23…_ _Where is it – Ah!_

Olivia knocked three times on the door, and was greeted by a red-faced man with a mile wide grin.

"Mademoiselle Olivia! It's so magnificent to have the pleasure of meeting you! Wonderful!" He shook her hand eagerly, and Olivia nearly laughed out loud. She had been certain that Monsieur Fevre, her boss in some sorts, would be a quiet, dark gentleman, being in this type of business. Meeting him now was quite a surprise!

"The pleasure is mine, Monsieur," Olivia said. "I must admit, I am very excited to finally receive my first assignment."

"How magnificent! Magnificent! I'm always happy to see someone happy on the job!" Olivia laughed, already picking up on the way Fevre repeated his words. His personality put her at ease, and she knew that she would grow to like this man.

"Now, let us get down to business! Here, I have all of the files for you. These contain all of the background information you will need about your future client, and also information for future meeting dates that have already been set. Oh, I can already tell you will be an impeccable little detective!" Monsieur Fevre handed a few folders to Olivia, chuckling cheerfully. "Here, why don't you take a seat and I will explain your case in detail – great detail."

"Of course," Olivia answered promptly. She immediately sat with her eyes and ears only on Monsieur Fevre. She opened one of her journals and pulled out a pen, prepared to take any notes.

Monsieur Fevre still wore a small smile, but seriousness flooded his face like candlelight into a dark room. He cleared his throat, and then took a long sip of what appeared to be brandy. _That explains his large amount of jolliness, _Olivia thought to herself.

And then, Monsieur Fevre began.

"Let me first tell you about your client; Raoul de Chagny."

* * *

"Erik, I demand you tell me where we are going!"

He smiled mischievously, and then made sure that the blindfold was still secure over her eyes. Erik was quite good at keeping secrets. In fact, he never really felt the need to share his secrets. After all, he was a man of mystery, and he preferred to keep it that way.

"You are so very impatient, my dear," Erik teased. "But lucky for you, we are nearing our destination. I will stop the carriage soon and tie up the horses, and then we will walk for just a minute or two."

Christine rolled her eyes and muttered something under her breath that only caused Erik's smile to grow.

Suddenly, the carriage came to a halt, and Christine became anxious and immediately alert. Erik tied up the two horses, and then helped Christine out and onto firm ground. She wore a confused expression upon stepping onto what felt like grass. _Where on earth was she?_

Erik held Christine's hand as he guided her to a metal bench, one with beautiful, twisted designs that had been meticulously carved some time ago.

Erik took one last look at the magnificent church behind him, trying to imagine Christine there so many years ago. He marveled at the churches' beauty, and the beauty of the girl in front of her, almost forgetting the reason he was here.

"Erik? Can I take off my blindfold now?" Christine piped up. Erik laughed; laughed at her innocence, and her impatience.

"Yes, Christine, you may remove the blindfold."

And so, she did.

At first, she did not speak. She felt a strange familiarity in the air, but did not recognize where she was. It was on the tip of her tongue, yet she could not put her finger on it.

"I'm sorry… The landscape is beautiful, but I don't know-"

"Turn around."

"Oh!"

Christine gasped, not believing her eyes. It was the church she had attended many times as a child – that is, when her father was not traveling – and it held such a special place in her heart. Here, her father had played her the violin for the last time, an incomplete song that had touched her very soul.

"Erik, how… how did you know? How did you find this place?"

"I heard you discuss it many times to Meg and Madame Giry. I could hear the longing in your voice, the long to return. And so, I set myself out to find it."

Christine spent many moments just staring at the church, speechless. Her eyes trailed over the magnificent stained glass and then over the glorious crucifix that was displayed over the main entrance to the church. Erik's eyes followed her own as he studied her glowing orbs. He could see the spark and memories that must have been running through her mind. Her smile still had not faded, and Erik then knew that he had made the right choice in bring Christine here. Truthfully, he had been a bit nervous about doing this. For all he knew, Christine could have broken down sobbing and begged to leave the church.

As Christine noticed Erik's trailing eyes, he knew that it was time; time to play the incomplete piece that he had no doubt was lingering in her mind at this moment.

"I have something I wish to… to play for you."

Christine waited with a curious expression. She was surprised when Erik pulled out a box from under the bench, one that he had once put there, removing a beautiful violin. Gentle, familiar notes began to pour from the violin as the bow cascaded over the strings. Erik closed his eyes as he allowed the music to consume him, and Christine couldn't help but do the same. She felt tears beginning to fall down her pale cheeks as she recognized the magnificent piece.

The song was haunting and brilliant in every way – as was every song her father had composed. Christine couldn't stop the tears from falling. She cried for her father, and for the beauty of the song. She cried for the man who was playing it now.

Once the song was complete, Christine was too moved to speak.

"I assumed you wouldn't mind me finishing it," Erik said softly.

Christine shook her head, wiping away the lingering tears. "No, of course not… It was beautiful. Father would have loved to hear it finished."

The song had been her father's last piece – one that had never been finished, due to his death. He would work on it endlessly, sometimes for hours at a time, always asking for his little daughter's advice and approval. Christine had no idea how Erik had found the song, nor how he had completed it as if her father had done so himself. But then again, he was Erik – composer and genius, to say the least.

"Thank you for finishing the song, and for bringing me here. It means more than you can imagine," Christine whispered, her eyes still moist from the tears she had shed.

"Of course, my Christine."

The two sat in a comfortable silence for a few minutes. Christine gazed into the open sky, reliving childhood memories with a satisfied, dreamy smile, while Erik simply watched her.

"Do you ever miss being the Opera Ghost?" Christine suddenly asked.

"What do you mean?" Erik replied with raised eyebrows. He couldn't help but wonder what had brought up that utterly random question.

"Do you ever miss it? Lurking in the shadows? Being powerful and feared by all inhabitants of the Opera House? Terrifying all of the little ballerinas, including me?" Christine grinned.

"I suppose I do, sometimes. Or rather, I _did_, before a certain Soprano was with me once again." Erik smiled mischievously. "I missed our lessons most. I lived for your voice, Christine, as I still do now. Though I will admit, seeing many people quiver in fear at just the sound of my voice was quite satisfying," Erik said while grinning, partly because the statement was entirely true.

Christine nodded as though she understood. Truthfully, Erik did sometimes long to be the mysterious and powerful Opera Ghost he once was. Then, he would just remind himself how horrible everything had turned out that night of the fire… And now, he only thought of Christine and how incredible and unbelievable it was to have her at this very moment.

"I miss our lessons, too," Christine said quietly. "I also lived for them, you know."

Erik knew that she lived for his lessons, for she had repeatedly told him so one night after a long absence of his. But he did not know that she still wished for them. Erik looked at Christine carefully and saw the desire in her eyes. And at that moment, he knew he had to change it.

"Well then, perhaps we should continue to have our lessons, shall we?"

Christine's face immediately lit up.

"Do you really mean that? I mean, we really have no reason to, since my singing career has ended-"

"Christine," Erik interrupted softly. "There will always be a reason to sing, even if there is not a career involved. I will continue to teach you not because your voice will improve, but because of the passion and love our lessons bring, my dear."

Christine nodded while wearing a content smile, for Erik's words were just what she'd needed to hear.

"How is your ankle feeling?" Erik eyed the bandages that Christine had put on herself sometime that morning.

Christine gently stroked her fingers over the injured area.

"It's better; much better, actually. The only pain it brings me now is a small limp. I'm surprised at how quickly it's been healing."

"Yes," Erik agreed.

"Well, I suppose that it wasn't as bad as either of us thought initially."

Christine raised a quizzical eyebrow, looking suspiciously at Erik.

"Are you saying that I overreacted?" she asked playfully.

Erik smiled. "_Of course_ not," he replied with a hint of sarcasm. "Perhaps _I _was the one who overreacted."

Christine sighed, now satisfied.

"Perhaps."

* * *

Olivia couldn't hide her shock once Monsieur Fevre had finished explaining her first assignment.

"My client… Raoul, was it?" She began, and Monsieur Fevre nodded. "You said he wishes to find a woman named Christine… Christine Daae?"

"Yes, her name is Christine Daae, which he soon hopes to change to Christine de Chagny because – well, you know the reasons behind everything, now, Olivia. Why do you ask about this? Will it be a problem?" The man raised an inquisitive eyebrow.

Though Olivia knew that her assignment had just become ten times harder, she knew she had to take on the challenge. She wanted anything but to hurt her friend from so many years ago, but she knew that she had to help her client, Raoul de Chagny. She had never met this man, and by the description Monsieur Fevre had given of him, it certainly wasn't the man she had seen with Christine at the café. That, she assumed, was the _other _man Monsieur Fevre had told her about…

"No, it won't be a problem," Olivia said as genuinely as she could, putting on a pleasant smile. She began gathering her folders and notes, stacking and shuffling.

"Well, I'm glad to hear that," Monsieur Fevre replied with true gratitude. "This will be wonderful, simply wonderful! Olivia, I have a feeling that you're the one. You're the one who can handle this case."

Olivia stood and made her way towards the door.

"I hope you're right, Monsieur. I hope you're right."

* * *

A/N: **And, there you have it! **

**Be prepared for phluff in the next chapter. But don't worry, it won't be corny cheesy Twilight-like fluff. (Yes I just dissed Twilight. It's ok, I used to love it). (:  
It'll be amazing Christine and Erik phluff. **

**Oh yes, be excited.**

**Hopefully it'll be up soon!  
Thank you all for staying with me!  
Don't forget to review! **


	14. Chapter XIV

_**Stolen**_

**Chapter 14: (The Rose Has Been) Set Free**

A/N: **This is by far my favorite chapter title so far.  
Anyone remember the story of "The Nightingale and the Rose", from Susan Kay's Phantom? (:  
I'm currently re-reading the book and re-falling in love with it. Speaking of which, there will be a few references with Kay's masterpiece in this chapter, so bare with me if you haven't read it. **

**I want to thank phantomphan2000 for once again beta-ing my chapter! It'd be full of awkward-sounding phrases and grammatical errors without her!**

**Enjoy the chapter! It begins a few days after the last one ended.  
Disclaimer: I don't own Phantom. Gaston Leroux, Susan Kay, and Andrew Lloyd Webber do. And God.**

* * *

_**"Night after night the nightingale came to beg for divine love, but though the rose trembled at the sound of his voice, her petals remained closed to him..." (Kay 433).**_

* * *

Olivia took a deep breath before placing four knocks on the large, magnificent door.

Her eyes had been as wide as saucers upon arriving at the estate of Raoul de Chagny. The house was huge and beautiful, and though Olivia knew nothing about architecture, she thought the design to be superb. A colorful array of flowers had been planted and obviously meticulously cared for in the front yard of the house, and the grass was greener than Olivia had thought possible. Everything looked absolutely perfect, in an almost impossible way. The mansion reminded her of something described in fairytales.

To say the least, she was as intimidated as ever as she waited for Raoul de Chagny to answer the door.

But it was not even him who appeared in the doorway – it was a servant.

"Hello. You must be Mademoiselle Olivia, if I remember correctly?" She wore a pleasant smile, and Olivia nodded, returning a smile of her own.

"I'm Madeline. Here, let me show you to Monsieur de Chagny."

"Thank you," Olivia said. "And it's nice to meet you."

She followed Madeline into the house and almost gasped out loud. It was even more extravagant on the inside, with a grand staircase as the breathtaking main attraction. Lovely paintings on the wall bordered by intricate frames of gold took Olivia's breath away. The only thing that really bothered Olivia was any lack of decoration up above her head. _An extraordinary chandelier would simply make the room_, she mused to herself.

"Right this way, Mademoiselle."

Madeline led her left of the main entrance and down a hallway. They passed two closed doors before arriving to an open one. Olivia peeked in to see a man with his head between his hands, his hair disheveled, obviously exhausted.

"Monsieur," Madeline said quietly. He snapped up from his worn out position at once, rising to his feet.

"Oh, yes, yes… Sorry, I was just… sorry…" He shook his head. Olivia could immediately tell he was at his wits end, and had obviously not gotten a large amount of sleep in the past few days, judging by the dark circles under his eyes.

"You must be Mademoiselle Olivia." He tried to smile pleasantly, but Olivia could see right through his attempt. "Thank you very much for meeting me here… Come; let us chat in my office." He gestured to a chair, and Olivia smiled, sitting down.

"You are excused, Madeline." Raoul said softly.

"Yes, Monsieur." She scurried off to the kitchen as Raoul closed the heavy doors behind him.

"You know what, or rather _who_ I need." Raoul began. Olivia nodded.

"Christine Daae."

"Yes. My Christine…" Raoul whispered with pain inflicted in his voice. Olivia suddenly felt a surge of pity for the man. He was simply lost with his beloved.

"And you wish for me to find her."

Raoul nodded sharply.

"Monsieur, I will do whatever it takes."

He ran his hands through his hair, as if this caused him much distress.

"If only it were easier than this… I just wish I didn't have to resort to sending a kind woman to find my fiancée. That is, if there will even be a wedding…" He trailed off, shaking his head. "But I suppose that this is the only way. I must find her. I must save her from that… that madman."

Olivia swallowed, choosing her next words very carefully.

"And this man… you believe he has kidnapped Christine?"

"Yes. He has decided to claim her back, I know he has."

"But I was informed that after you were reunited with her, she left you…" Olivia said, remembering the story quite clearly. Apparently, the 'madman' was thought to be dead by Raoul, and so Christine had immediately run off upon hearing this. She had yet to return…

"I let her go, and I regret it every passing moment." His voice was blanketed with distress. "She only left because she thought he was dead… She only left because she knew he couldn't hurt her again. And when she found him alive, he must have taken her away once again. He must have…"

What troubled Olivia most was the fact that Raoul seemed as though he was trying to convince himself rather than her.

"I see," was all Olivia replied. "And do you have any idea where I might find this man's estate?"

Raoul breathed a sigh of exasperation, shaking his head.

"Not a clue. He may be a madman, but he's a genius… And he must have the most secluded, hidden property in all of Paris. I'm afraid I must leave finding it up to you, Olivia."

Olivia smiled softly.

"Of course. That is my job, after all. I can assure you that I will find Christine, no matter what the cost."

And for the first time since Olivia had seen him, Raoul smiled genuinely.

"Thank you."

* * *

Christine sighed longingly as she stared out the window, musing to herself how beautiful it was outside.

"Erik, do you ever go outside and just… enjoy the day?" She asked curiously. He was viciously scribbling down notes at the seat of his piano, alternating between that and playing. This had been going on the entire morning and the many hours before, for inspiration had struck him like a bolt of lightning in the dead of the night.

"Not usually," he muttered distantly, concentrated predominately on his composition.

"Hmm…" Christine mumbled, thinking about how it was such a shame to waste a pretty day.

Erik sensed the unhappiness in her voice and dropped his pen at once.

"Would you like to?" he asked, now directing his attention to Christine. She looked up at once, a smile inching on her lips.

"Well, only if you wouldn't mind…"

"If you would like, Christine, we can have a picnic," Erik suggested. Of course, that sounded fantastic to Christine, as he knew it would. He probably knew her better than she knew herself.

"A picnic! Oh, that sounds wonderful! Father and I used to have picnics all the time! I was very fond of them…"

And so, it was settled. A young soprano and a masked composer were going to have a picnic.

...

A careless giggle escaped Christine's lips.

She was perfectly at ease as she sat on the blanket next to Erik. They were under the shade of a large oak tree that was now nearly in full bloom, some fifty feet from the house. Christine fiddled with a dandelion in her hand, laughing at something Erik had said.

"If only every day were as lovely as this," she sighed contently, relaxing against the tree.

"Yes," Erik calmly replied. "If only."

"You know, I simply don't understand it," Christine said abruptly.

"Understand what, my dear?"

"I don't understand how… how you lived for so long without any sunshine. Your house beyond the lake was quite beautiful, but I surely would've died being alone in there for so long…" Christine trailed off, barely able to imagine such seclusion. She suddenly felt extremely sorry for Erik.

"Did you ever have anyone that… visited you?" she asked, now more quiet and apprehensive. Christine knew that this was a difficult subject to Erik. She knew that his time in solitude was a dark one, filled with anguish and shadows.

"One man… One man visited me from time to time, but eventually he gave up… He saved my life, and I saved his."

"Who, Erik? Who was it?"

Erik sighed sadly. "His name was Nadir."

Christine nodded, interested, though a bit afraid to ask any more.

"I had a cat, once."

Christine raised an eyebrow.

"A cat?"

"Yes." Erik smiled as the image of his beautiful Siamese friend flooded his mind. She had always been such a gorgeous cat, a rare diamond in this part of Europe.

"What was its name?" Christine wondered out loud, trying to envision a cat suitable for Erik, a task which was proving quite difficult.

"Her name was Ayesha. She was a Siamese cat, and was almost slaughtered," Erik explained.

Christine's eyes widened in horror, and Erik laughed at her innocence, her lack of knowledge. Sometimes ignorance could be bliss.

"Oh, never mind that," Erik said. "Follow me."

"Wait, where are we going?"

But before Christine could finish asking, Erik was already gracefully striding towards the small pond not too far away. Christine hurried after him, a carefree smile playing on her lips. She had to lift her dress as she ran through the field to keep up with him.

Breathlessly laughing, Christine finally reached Erik, who was already pulling a small canoe towards the shore of the pond.

"After you." He smiled, gesturing in the direction of the canoe.

"Why, thank you," Christine replied in the same tone Erik had spoken with, trying to steady the canoe before sitting in it. A sudden feeling of nervousness took over her, for she had never been in a canoe before, or an open boat of any sorts.

As Erik slid in with two oars, Christine bit her lip.

"This canoe won't… it won't tip over, will it?"

Erik shrugged nonchalantly. "If it does, then I suppose we will be going for a little swim."

Christine smiled a little, though she still couldn't hide her nervousness. But Erik was completely at ease as he rowed the boat into deeper water, and this made her feel much safer.

Before long, all of Christine's fears had vanished into thin air. She laughed carelessly, feeling freer than she could have ever imagined. All thoughts encircling her mind were of happiness and joy.

As a child, Christine's father had once told her a story about a rose and a nightingale. Erik had also told her this story once before. Christine was the rose, with her petals always closed to the nightingale. She had always been trapped within her own mind, shut out from the rest of the world.

But now, Christine realized, her petals had finally opened.

She had been set free.

...

It was dark out by the time Christine realized that hours had passed since their picnic had begun, not the mere moments it had felt like.

The two found themselves relaxing under the tree, and Christine suddenly had an idea that caused a smile to spread across her pink lips.

"Erik, may I sing for you?"

Erik knew how much this meant to his Christine, and he also longed to hear the angelic voice that he had spent so many years perfecting.

"Of course you may sing for me, Christine."

And so her soft voice began to pour into the night, becoming more powerful as her confidence began to grow. She was actually a bit nervous at first, having been in the absence of their lessons for far too long. She let her eyes close and the music consumed every inch of her. Erik's voice eventually entwined with hers, and he too got lost in the moment.

Christine did not notice how her voice began to fade, and how her eyelids became heavier. Within a few minutes, she had turned completely silent.

At first, Erik thought something was wrong. But he soon realized that Christine was simply tired.

"You are weary," Erik said softly. "Should we return to the house?"

"No. I think I'd like to sleep here tonight," Christine mumbled. Erik laughed quietly, sensing her exhaustion.

"This tree is nice… I like it out here," she continued.

"Well then, if you wish to sleep outside, then you shall."

Christine had already lain down on the blanket, and Erik brushed the hair from her face ever so softly.

Erik stood and paced as she slept, thinking about all that had occurred.

It seemed so unreal, what he had experienced. Today, he had been as close to bliss as he had ever been. It was always such a distant emotion for him, and yet somehow, he had been fortunate enough to experience true happiness while spending a wonderful day with Christine. Erik's dark mind contemplated this new awakening of emotion. One thing frightened him, above all.

Would it last?

With his luck, it would be gone in the snap of a finger.

Christine began tossing a turning, mumbling incoherent words. She seemed to be in a state of panic, probably having a nightmare. Erik knew what to do in order to calm her, though. Nightmares had been a reoccurring event since Christine had been living with him – since she was a child, actually. Whether they were about her father, or simply about consuming darkness, Erik could always make them go away with only his voice.

"Hush, my dear. It's only a dream."

She was quieter after that, but still turned restlessly. Erik softly sang a hymn he had learned at a young age, and this immediately put Christine in a deep sleep.

The peaceful sound of Christine's even breathing allowed Erik to think about his music. He had played for hours the previous night and throughout the morning, hardly able to stop, even for just a moment. The notes now bounced around in his head, and he longed to have his piano in front of him so he could pour his dark soul into the musical instrument.

But he would not – _could not_ leave his Christine.

And as he stared at her beautiful face, illuminated by the moon, he had no desire to.

* * *

Christine woke to a bright light shining in her eyes.

_What on Earth...? _She thought groggily as her eyelids fluttered open.

Oh. The sun.

Memories of the previous day came flooding back to her, and before she could panic, she remembered that she had slept outside. She scarcely remembered the haunting voice lulling her to sleep… the voice of her angel.

Her angel!

She bolted up, frantically looking around her.

"Erik?" she asked, a note of fear evident in her voice.

"Erik? Where are you? Erik!"

A light hand fell on her shoulder, and she gasped, jumping at the icy touch.

"I am here, Christine."

His voice was just as icy, if not more.

"Oh, there you are." She exhaled with relief, smiling. But as she spun around to face him, her smile immediately melted away. His eyes were bitter and cold, sending a chill up her spine. She suddenly felt very frightened of the man she had laughed with for hours the previous day…

"What… what's wrong?" She stuttered, not able to think of a reason why he could possibly be so angry.

Erik smiled bitterly.

"What's wrong, Christine? Why, what a fantastic question!" He exclaimed sarcastically. "Why don't you ask the one you were calling for in your sleep, Christine? Why don't you ask him!"

His voice came out powerfully and angrily, but Christine could hear the obvious pain beneath it.

_Oh, no. _

She must have been calling for Raoul in her sleep… But she didn't understand! _I do not want Raoul! _She told herself, angry at her unconsciousness for being so foolish.

"Erik, I don't want him. Please, you must believe me!" she begged, her pleading eyes producing tears.

Erik watched Christine's eyes brim with moisture, and then realized the mistake he had made.

His own eyes softened at once, and his voice was filled with regret.

"Forgive me. You cannot help what you say in your sleep… I lost my temper."

Christine wiped her eyes. She had forgotten how dangerous Erik could really be. She had forgotten his temper and what he was capable of… _everything _he was capable of.

"I forgive you," she whispered.

Erik frowned, for he had truly frightened Christine. He had to remember that though she wasn't as naïve as she once was, she was still a child; a fragile child.

"Come, you must be hungry. Let me prepare you some breakfast."

Christine nodded, and Erik began leading her back across the stretch of grass, returning her delicate mind to the house. Once inside, he smiled at her softly.

"I truly had a remarkable time yesterday, Christine," he told her, meaning every word.

And Christine couldn't help but smile.

"Me too."

Perhaps the rose's petals were open indefinitely.

* * *

A/N: **So things are starting to look good for Christine and Erik… but will it last?  
Perhaps in the next chapter we shall have a little game of hide and seek…**

**Also, my sister, peaceloveandchrist, just began a new phic called "Confessions of a Runaway Bride", which I am beta-ing. Please check it out!**

**Reviews make me happy. ^_^**


	15. Chapter XV

_**Stolen**_

**Chapter 15: Hide and Seek**

A/N: **Here is chapter 15! I hope everyone enjoys! I also want to thank **phantomphan2000 **for her awesome beta-ing powers! (:  
**  
Disclaimer: **I do not own Phantom of the Opera.**

**

* * *

**

_**Hide and seek.  
Trains and sewing machines.  
(Oh you won't catch me around here).  
Blood and tears,  
They were here first**_

…

_**Speak no feeling, no I don't believe you.  
You don't care a bit. You don't care a bit.**_

_**(Hide and Seek – Imogen Heap).**_

_**

* * *

**_

**Eight days later…  
**

Christine slept more fitfully than ever.

She had nightmares – many nightmares.

_She dreamt of the past…_

…

_She giggled as the cold water reached her ankles, squealing when the icy cool liquid tickled her feet.  
_

_She could hear Raoul getting closer to her hiding spot, so she ducked as low as she could. Christine hoped that the boulder concealed her completely so that she wouldn't lose.  
_

_Her father walked by and winked at her, but Christine quickly motioned for him to keep walking, and held up a finger to her mouth, trying not to giggle. Her father blew her a kiss and continued in the opposite direction, understanding.  
_

"_Oh, Lottie, where are you?" Raoul called in a playful tone. A giggle escaped Christine's lips, and she immediately slapped her hand over her mouth.  
_

"_Ha! Found you!"  
_

_Christine pouted as Raoul helped her out of her hiding spot.  
_

"_You always find me!" She exclaimed.  
_

You always find me…

…

_Christine tried not to cry as the train pulled out from the station.  
_

"_Daddy, I really don't want to leave," she said, her voice squeaky and high-pitched, trying one last time.  
_

_Her father smiled sadly."I know, my angel," he said softly. "But your daddy is getting older… weaker… I think it would be best that we return to France, now."  
_

"_But… but I'm going to miss it here so much! I'm going to miss the sand, and the water! And… and…" She didn't dare finish, for she feared that the threatening tears that still lingered would spill over. And she couldn't cry- she couldn't! She was a big girl now, and she had to stay strong.  
_

"_I know you will miss Raoul, Christine. But perhaps you will meet him again someday. God sometimes works in strange ways…"  
_

_Christine could only nod.  
_

_She looked out the window of the train, spotting Raoul waving to her from the platform. He was all smiles, not wearing a hint of sadness. _But why wasn't he sad, too? _Christine did not understand, and frowned. It was as if Raoul knew that this would not be their final goodbye.  
_

"_Goodbye, Raoul. You're Little Lottie will miss you."  
_

_And as the train left the station, she began to cry._

…

"_Father, I saw Raoul again today. He has been attending the Operas..."  
_

_Christine was lighting a candle for her father_, _still in her costume and Pointe shoes.  
_

"_But, of course, he must not have noticed me… I'm just a mere chorus girl, always in the back…"  
_

_This was only Christine's fourth performance, and she was still very young and fragile. Though her father had passed away years ago, she still lit a candle for him every single night.  
_

"_Perhaps… perhaps he doesn't remember me." Christine sighed, tears gathering in her eyes._

_She noticed the candle had almost turned into a puddle. It would soon disappear and the room would flood with darkness.  
_

"_Father, the angel has been training me. He tells me that I'll be a singer one day… He says that at the rate I'm progressing, I'll be even bigger than La Carlotta. Maybe… Maybe then Raoul will recognize me…"  
_

_At that point, the candle went out and Christine was left in the darkness, tears rolling down her cheeks.  
_

"_Goodnight, Father."_

…

Christine awoke in a coat of cold sweat, her breathing heavy and her face soaked with tears.

She shakily walked to the window, tugging at the curtain. Her worried look only darkened as more night flooded the room. She could try and go back to sleep, but knew it was useless.

Fumbling, she tried to light a candle on her bedside table, only to drop the match.

She sighed with exhaustion, on the verge of breaking down.

Gingerly, Christine crept to her doorway, cracking the door open.

Relief swelled within her as she discovered that Erik was not asleep. _Of course he's not asleep! _She told herself. _It's like he doesn't ever sleep at all!  
_

Erik was sitting in an armchair, absorbed in a novel. His mask had been strewn aside, but Christine hardly even noticed. She tip-toed as quietly as she could manage into the room, and he slowly looked up from his book.

"Christine?"

She did not answer. She only bit her lip for fear that she may cry.

He stood and turned around to see her pale form, shivering. Her eyes shook and Erik could see that she was on the verge of tears.

"Come here, my dear," he said softly. Slowly, she ambled forward with her arms crossed tightly over her chest.

"Nightmares?" he inquired knowingly. Christine nodded.

"It's always the same," she whispered. "We are playing hide and seek, as children… And he finds me. He always finds me."

Erik studied her eyes. They were full of emotion, but most of all, fear.

"And this frightens you," he murmured.

At that moment, Christine fell apart.

Tears began to pour from her eyes like a waterfall, and she tried to cross her arms over her body to hold herself together. Her body shook with sobs and Erik cautiously put his arms around her. Christine immediately leaned into him, and he held her while she cried.

"I feel as though he is looking for me, seeking me at this very moment! And I am hiding, just hiding, waiting for him to find me… because I know he will! I know!"

She cried and Erik simply held her, whispering soothing words into her ear.

Eventually, she began to calm down and gain control over herself. She sniffed and wiped the tears from her eyes, leaning away from Erik's gentle hold.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I know that was… childish of me." Her voice still shook and she tried desperately to steady it. _She was a big girl, now…  
_

Erik reached up and absentmindedly touched his face, and then realized that he wasn't wearing a mask.

Immediately, his back turned from Christine and his only thought was to put it on.

_Where is it? Where is my bloody mask?  
_

"Don't," Christine said quietly.

His hand froze in mid-reach.

"What?"

"Don't," she repeated.

Despite himself and his instinct to cover his exposed face, Erik's hand lingered above the mask before falling slowly to his side.

"Your face does not frighten me," Christine whispered.

Erik smiled sadly, his eyes glowing softly.

"That may be… But, do you want to know something?" He then placed the mask over his face. "Sometimes, it frightens me. I have learned in my years that there are some things that should be unexposed for all eternity, and my face is one of those things."

Christine's insides screamed to protest, but she remained silent.

Erik's mind drifted to a young woman he had met when he was only a teenager. That spoiled girl who had been his own personal purgatory… _Luciana. _The horrifying shrill of her scream echoed in Erik's mind… The sound of the building crumbling beneath her…

_Curiosity had killed the cat.  
_

Erik shook the haunting memories from his mind, observing Christine, noticeably the dark circles under her eyes. He knew that nightmares had been troubling her worse than usual lately, and that it had been a while since she had experienced a good night's sleep.

"I have something that will allow you to sleep nightmare-free," Erik said, making his way towards the kitchen. Christine followed as he rummaged through cabinets, shifting through many bottles of liquids that reminded Christine of potions.

Finally, he found what he was looking for, and poured a small amount into a spoon. Christine took it and sniffed the vile liquid, wrinkling her nose.

"The taste is rather unpleasant, but the purpose is always served."

Christine noticed how difficult it was to stand without her eyelids getting heavy and knew that she needed to take the medicine. She forced the liquid down her throat in one swallow, and then handed the spoon back to Erik.

"Now, that should give you some peace."

Christine nodded.

"What about you, Erik? Don't you ever get any peace?"

He smiled slightly, tossing the spoon into the sink carelessly.

"I am most at peace knowing you are safe and well."

And with that, Christine smiled and headed off to bed, feeling much better than she had before.

…

Erik stayed awake to continue reading the novel until he lost interest, and set it aside. He felt exhaustion pour into him like honey, enveloping his bones. It was true that he felt most at peace knowing Christine was fine, he was certain she was, but felt a sudden desperate need for sleep. Perhaps he could rest for just a few minutes… or hours…

He was jolted awake sometime later - he didn't know if it had been minutes or several hours since he had fallen asleep.

He shot up and floated towards the window with the agility of a cat, a characteristic he'd never lost. He lifted the curtain and noted that familiar darkness outside.

And then, he heard the noise that had awakened him.

A horse's hooves pounding on the gravel… getting louder… _closer.  
_

Someone was coming – an intruder.

Erik instinctively reached down and grazed his hands of the lasso that was always tucked in his belt. He was suddenly very glad that he had drifted to sleep in his regular day dress rather than evening clothes, for it saved him time now.

Quietly and carefully, Erik slid out the door, his golden eyes glimmering in the darkness of the night.

He loosened the Punjab lasso, prepared to greet his unexpected guest.

A single horse with a solitaire rider was now within a few yards of Erik, the shadow that he spotted from the window now becoming clearer. The horse was a stallion, beautiful and strong. As for the rider, whoever it was had cloaked himself in black, making him very difficult to see, even for Erik…

The horse stopped abruptly and its rider did not budge. He had obviously spotted Erik, for Erik could sense the figure's probing eyes on him.

"I would advise you not to make any sudden movements, Monsieur, or I will gladly kill you," Erik spat maliciously. He slowly began to walk closer to the rider, but still kept a distance.

"I do not know your business here, but this is _private_ property. Let me inform you that you would be a fool not to leave now and never return, Monseiur." Erik's voice was like acid, dripping with bitter anger and a hint of sarcasm.

The figure slowly, and gracefully, Erik noticed, slid off the horse. His movements were careful and not at all masculine. Erik tensed and reached for the lasso, ready to send it flying over the dark figure's head…

"Actually, it's Mademoiselle."

A female voice sounded through the air, surprising Erik, though he still appeared nonchalant on the outside. Her voice was blanketed with its own kind of venom, and though she was trembling with fright on the inside, she appeared fearless.

"What is your name?" Erik demanded suddenly, approaching the young woman. She couldn't be too much older than Christine, but it was hard to tell in the darkness of the night.

"Olivia," she replied calmly. "And you are?" she asked, though she knew perfectly well who she was speaking to.

Erik ignored her completely. "Tell me, Mademoiselle _Olivia_… What brings you to _my _estate?" He asked his question slowly, weaving his words in a mysterious and daunting way.

Olivia did not answer, but tried to remain calm. This was the first time she had met the infamous Phantom face-to-face, and his very presence terrified her. But she knew she mustn't show that, not if she was going to achieve her goal… Not if she was going to find Christine.

"Answer me, Mademoiselle!" Erik commanded harshly. "I have not yet killed a woman… _intentionally._ But I can assure you, failure to comply with my demands will not result to your liking."

Olivia chose her next words very carefully.

"I am here on behalf of Christine Daae. I'm afraid that she is required elsewhere… It seems that this is _not_ where she belongs, Monsieur."

Erik laughed bitterly at the woman's lunacy.

"And what would _you_ know about where she belongs?"

Olivia was frozen with fear as she spotted the rope he was removing from his belt.

Erik wasn't going to kill her – he knew not enough about her to do so. The lasso was only to make her afraid… as if she weren't already. He was certain that the fool, the de Chagny boy had sent her, and Erik would gladly take care of him.

"Mademoiselle, Christine will never return to the boy until the day she asks me to leave. You are to leave this place immediately and never return, for I'm sure you know what the consequences will be. Do you understand?"

Olivia swallowed, knowing that she had failed. She wouldn't be able to get Christine. She would have to return to poor Raoul empty handed, with no hope of ever returning what he had lost.

"Yes," she said so softly that her quiet voice was nearly engulfed by the night.

"Good." Erik's sharp tone rang through the night like a bell, and he spun around as Olivia mounted the brawny horse – Raoul's, of course – and made his way back to his angel, whom he hoped was still sound asleep.

Olivia rode off into the night, feeling utterly hopeless as tears began to cloud her eyes. She wanted nothing more than to be swallowed by the night, to hide her shameful face and never show it, especially not to Raoul.

Erik listened as the horse and Olivia galloped away, knowing that she would never return.

"It seems that you have lost this round of hide and seek, Vicomte," Erik murmured, a small smile spreading across his face.

As his house once again came into view, Erik quickly decided not to tell Christine of this little incident.

* * *

It was dawn by the time the de Chagny estate came into Olivia's view.

The green grass was painted with a fresh coat of dew, and birds were singing their morning songs. The sun was just peaking over the horizon, illuminating the mansion. Olivia urged the exhausted horse on. _Just a few more steps until we reach the barn_, she encouraged. She was extremely drained of energy herself, and a hopeless frown was etched onto her face.

After tying up the nearly collapsed horse, Olivia slowly made her way to the house. She trudged through the grass, her face as pale as a ghost's.

The entire ride back she had tried to think of a way to tell Raoul she had not retrieved Christine. Olivia had left the house so certain that she would… She had made the mistake of convincing Raoul of this, too. How, she wondered helplessly, could she tell him she had failed? She had been a coward and fled for her own life, putting herself before Christine… Against everything that Monsieur Fevre had taught her in her week of getting to know him. That cheery, red-faced man would be so disappointed in her…

Olivia felt herself tapping lightly on the massive door three times, sighing with defeat. This was it… Surely, she would be fired. She'd certainly be kicked out of the house that Raoul had graciously opened to her these past few days, left to return to her tiny apartment.

She heard quick footsteps, as if the feet they belonged to were running – no, she corrected, sprinting – to the door. She could just imagine his face shining with anticipation, expectant to answer the door and find his love…

The door whirled open and she was greeted by the face she had expected. Though lines of worry were etched into his face from the previous night, Raoul now looked more alive than he had since Christine had left him.

But his grin immediately melted away once he saw the pained and shameful look that colored Olivia's eyes.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered.

Raoul nodded sharply, knowing instantly, his heart sinking like a lost ship.

"You didn't… you didn't find her." He forced the words out his mouth, not wanting to face it.

Olivia shook her head slowly.

"I arrived at the estate at a very late hour… _He _heard me… and told me he would kill me if I ever returned… He told me –"

Raoul cut her off, seeing as she was on the verge of tears, frustration apparent on her face. "I understand," he murmured. He knew it was not her fault. He knew he wouldn't have even found the estate, let alone in a week's time. Olivia had helped him more than he could ever have imagined. Though she was being paid for her work, she had done so much in such a short time. She hadn't slept more than an hour or two each night, doing extensive research and everything she could to locate Christine; she had done what he could not.

And now he saw the sincere sadness on her face, and knew that she truly did care for him and Christine.

"He said something else, though…" Olivia whispered. "He said… He said that Christine would never return to you... _until the day she asks him to leave_."

Raoul knew then. He knew at that second Christine would never be his wife.

She was staying with Erik _by choice.  
_

"I'll go now," Olivia said quietly. "If you would allow me to retrieve my things from my room…"

Raoul had hardly noticed they were both still standing in the doorway.

"No," he replied softly.

Olivia glanced at him, clearly confused. _No?What could he possibly mean?  
_

"You have shown me nothing but compassion this past week, and I will not make you leave simply because _she _has chosen to leave me."

Olivia was shocked. Even after her failure, Raoul was allowing her to stay at his house.

"Thank you… You are very kind," she said sincerely. Raoul nodded and wandered back into the house, obviously very distressed, deep in thought. Olivia floated to her room, closing the door behind her. The first thing she noticed was an envelope on her desk. She raised an eyebrow, opening the delicate paper. Inside was a note along with large sum of money.

_Mademoiselle Olivia,  
_

_I have enclosed your pay for the week. I am writing this letter as you leave into the night to rescue Christine. I wish for you to accept this money whether your mission is a success or not. You deserve this payment, Olivia, and please do not believe otherwise. I want to sincerely thank you for everything you have done to help me and my Christine.  
_

_Warmest regards,  
_

_Raoul de Chagny_

Olivia felt herself smiling, almost disbelieving the letter in front of her eyes. All of her life she had never met a man so kind. And the amount of money he had given her! It was quite ridiculous, but she knew refusing it would get her nowhere.

She knew she needed to thank him now.

She was foolish, though, and didn't think of the grief he must feel at this time, after receiving news that his love did not wish to return to him. She ambled to his office, just about to knock on the door. Her hand was in midair before she let it fall slowly to her side, for she heard something from inside the office that crushed her heart.

_He was crying.  
_

It was very quiet, almost too silent to hear. The only way she could tell was the way his voice broke as he whispered Christine's name.

And then Olivia crept back to her room with a broken heart of her own, thinking that no man had ever loved a woman more than Raoul…

_Well, _Olivia backtracked, a masked face flooding her mind.

…_Maybe one._

* * *

A/N: **I must say, I like the way this chapter turned out. Oh! I have to tell y'all something funny that I did! Ok, so I was typing a paper for geography and was writing something about elephants for some reason... Anyways, out of instinct, I accidentally typed "elephantom". Elephantom!  
I thought it was hilarious... (:  
Anyways, please tell me what you thought of the chapter in a nice little review! Thanks! **


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